


The Missing Page

by BibliophileLove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Betrayal, Daily Prophet, Dark Magic, F/M, Five Years Later, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Plot, Post-Deathly Hallows, Post-War, Slow Build, Wandless Magic, mostly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 61,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8737399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BibliophileLove/pseuds/BibliophileLove
Summary: Five years post war finds Draco in a precarious position. His hard fought reputation is being threatened, as well as his plan for a brighter, safer future. Anonymous attacks on ex-death eaters and their families are on the rise, and it seems that the wizarding community may be under the threat of war once again. Who better to put a stop to it than the Savior?  Of course, that means Draco will have to hunt down a man that he hates, as no one has seen Potter since the fall of the dark lord.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Post DH. This story is canon compliant with a few exceptions, such as the epilogue, and that Harry did not destroy the Elderwand at the end of DH. It has been a while since I’ve read the books so if you see that I’ve made a mistake, please point them out. This is part one of five, I have many plans for this story, and this is only the beginning. 
> 
> Also, I was on the hunt for a beta. I found one and she's amazing, thank you to mdemeran for looking over part one and making some much needed changes. But I seem to have lost contact with her. Part two is finished but I don't want to post it until it's been looked over. If anyone out there has some extreme beta skills and is a huge HP nerd, please send me an email. Its on my bio page.

Part One

 

It was the alarm that woke Draco. The manor had been violated, and though the wards were not what they used to be, they were enough to alert him that there were intruders in the house. Not seconds after the jarring sensation in his body, he heard the _crack_ of one of the elves appearing in his private chambers.

 

“Master Draco, there is being wizards in the house, sir!” She squeaked fearfully, twisting the hem of a dirty towel in her long fingers. Draco jumped from bed and jerked on a robe, silently summoning his wand without a thought from his bedside table.

 

Anger made its presence known in the clench of his fingers and firm set of his jaw. He could hear voices down the stairs, not yelling, but commanding, giving orders. Forcing himself to walk down to the ground floor calmly was no easy feat, but he was a Malfoy, so it was necessary. The Ministry team had split into groups, searching carelessly through the house, knocking over delicate artifacts and upturning furniture. Draco took a breath, then addressed the man in front of him.

 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He said, fixing a cool smile on his face and folding his hands in front of him in a gesture of compliance. His robe wasn’t fastened, but he refused to be embarrassed by the sliver of his bare chest on display. They had, after all, invaded his home in the middle of the night.

 

“Simply following orders, Mister Malfoy. Allow us to do our job and we’ll be on our way.” The man's voice was low but firm, and his eyes trained warily on Draco's face. He was an older wizard, in his forties or fifties perhaps, and grey haired. Shorter than Draco, but with wider shoulders. His wand was in his hand, but his grip was lax.

 

“May I ask why we are being raided again?” Draco requested, his tone the perfect facade of politeness. Arguing would do him no good. He had learned that lesson.

 

“Anonymous tip. You know how it works. I really can’t say. You may come by the Ministry in the morning for a report, provided we don’t find anything that would prove your presence at the Ministry a bit more urgent.” Draco made a conscious effort not to clench his jaw.

 

“I am quite sure there is nothing here to find.” The Ministry employee opened his mouth to speak but aborted the attempt, his eyes flickering behind Draco.

 

“Draco? Whats going on?” Draco turned, noted his mother's fingers clenched tightly around her robe, her hair down and in disarray from sleep, and the subtle lines around her eyes. Draco stepped towards her.

 

“Nothing mother, just another useless attempt to find something that no longer exists.” He said the last bit loudly enough for the man behind him to hear.

 

Narcissa sighed. “This is the fourth time, not a coincidence.” She murmured as people scurried around them, invading their home. “When they’re done, we need to speak. I’ll be in the second floor drawing room.” She whispered, before squeezing his hand briefly and nodding stiffly to the man behind Draco. Draco watched her walk away with dull eyes.

 

She was right, of course. These raids were no coincidence. Someone was pushing for them to happen. Someone was intentionally trying to disrupt their plans.

 

“Sir, no dark magics or dark objects found.” Draco breathed a sigh before turning to face the Ministry man.

“There. Now are we quite finished, or would you like to check the broom cupboard? My mother's vanity, perhaps?” Draco drawled.

 

“That's quite enough of that, Mister Malfoy.” The man responded, his voice tired and unaffected. “We shall expect you at the Ministry in the morning. Good night.”

 

Draco watched as the team, a good fifteen or so, showed themselves out as easily as they had showed themselves in. He allowed himself a scowl in the empty room. A long time ago, they would not have been able to breach the manor’s wards so easily. But the world was a different place now, and the manor was a different house.

 

His mother was sitting in one of the high armchairs by the fire, one of those chosen more for comfort than style. The cushioned bottom was soft from years of late nights, such as this one. Tip was placing a tea tray next to her, she poured two cups while Draco sat opposite. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing the agitated strands in silence before taking his cup from Tip.

 

There was some time of quiet between them as they contemplated their situation. Four raids within the last two years, since the Malfoy family's public announcement. This one was not the worst of them, but still a problem nonetheless.

 

“If we allow this to continue it will only get worse. We can’t expect this change to take effect when they keep drawing us right back to where we started.” Narcissa whispered, her eyes soft and troubled. Draco sighed and shook his head.

 

“You’re right, but I can hardly retaliate when I don’t know who is striking at us to begin with. I have no friends in the Ministry. I have no way to get information. Our network of allies died with him.”

“Your father was a different man, who did things his own way. That does not mean it was the right way,” she said, her eyes now on Draco with their sad softness. He knew she missed Lucius. He had been a hard man, but she had loved him as a wife should. Draco’s feelings were more complicated.

 

“His way was efficient, if nothing else,” he answered, somewhat bitterly.

 

“There are other ways, my son.” She whispered again, looking back at the fire.

 

“What other ways are there? If you have a solution, then tell me.” He ordered, with no real authority. He was master of the house, but he would never abuse that power over her, and she knew it.

 

She was silent for a while, so Draco waited. These games were nothing new, and patience in this aspect was second nature to him. She would reveal her thoughts in her own time.

 

Their situation was a delicate one. The increase of attacks on ex-Death Eaters had put the wizarding public on edge, and it seemed to Draco that the animosity of this anonymous hate group and the raids were too related to be a coincidence. All of their hard work had led them to this point, and it would come to fruition in a mere handful of months. One bad article in the Prophet featuring their name would ruin everything before it even began. These raids were a venture at bad press, and though Draco knew they would find nothing incriminating, with each attempt they would grow more desperate. With desperation came recklessness, and that was the last thing they needed now.

 

“What if there was someone? Someone you could ally with, who would be able to stop these raids and even help our endeavor to flourish?” She asked, her tone careful. Draco looked at her directly, not bothering to mask his suspicion.

 

“And who would that be?”

 

“It was always your deepest wish Draco. I know you never let go of it, no matter how much you profess to hate him.” She whispered, fingers still in her lap as she gazed into the fire. At least she did him the courtesy of not looking at him, as his face immediately inflamed and his fingers clenched the armrests of his chair.

 

He jerked forward towards her as he spoke.

“I _will not_! How could you, after all that's... what a preposterous thought! I can’t believe you would even suggest!” Draco cut himself off, choking on the words. His chest heaved, and suddenly he couldn’t bear his skin exposed. He yanked his robe around him, covering the scars from wounds that never quite healed.

 

“My darling, you can not lie to me. It’s been five years. Isn’t it time to forget the past and forge a new future? Isn’t that what all of this has been about? What better way than to do it as allies, as _friends_ of the man who made it all possible?”

 

Draco struggled to control his emotions. He prided himself on the man he had become, strong and untouchable. Dignified. He hated to know that the mere mention of Potter could reduce him to this base state.

 

“Even if I were willing, no one knows where he is. He disappeared after the war, as you well know. Merlin knows why, he could have had all the fame and attention he had always wanted.” Draco spat.

 

“My son, for someone so intelligent, you are remarkably stupid at times.” She sighed. Draco spluttered, mouth open to retort, but she continued. “Besides, he hasn’t completely disappeared… one hears rumors…”

 

Draco’s interest peaked, reluctantly. He stared at his mother, her back straight, her fingers tapping lightly against the porcelain of her cup. Unable to stop himself, he asked,

 

“What rumors?”

 

“Rumors of a man seeking strange old magics, in forgotten places.” Draco sighed. Damn her. Damn her for dangling this in front of him. Damn her for knowing secrets that he’d never told.

 

“How would I go about it? He’ll hex me on sight.” He sighed.

 

“Not if he didn’t recognize you. Considering his… special abilities, you’re presented with a unique opportunity.” She offered softly.

 

“That could be dangerous.” He murmured, the possibilities already taking flight in his thoughts.

 

She set her teacup on the tray and leaned forward, taking his hand in her own.

 

“Draco darling, the things that are worth it are always dangerous.”

 

* * *

  


Draco was _cold._ The hard damp earth under his belly was an affront, an evil thing he had come to hate. For weeks he had searched, asking the various creatures that he came across, slowly getting closer and closer to his target. The forests had spoken to him in many voices, some indifferent, some unknowing, some terrified. There was a strange magic lurking, something unstable and vaguely hostile. Draco could feel it growing stronger as he traveled, but it was nothing compared to the _cold._

 

He slithered across the forest floor, his pale scaled body sliding over dead foliage and debris. The trees above him were old and mostly bare, but somehow still managed to block the waning daylight. He tasted the air and yes, _there_ , a hint of something. Something warm and alive. Something human.

 

But there was also the most subtle taste of magic. An old, benign power that was wound tightly in the air around him. It felt constricted, controlled, but with the dangerous potential to expand into something terrifying. It would have been much harder to detect in his human form, but Draco’s senses were much stronger in this body.

 

He slowed, allowing his body to coil protectively in case he had need to defend himself. His progress was slow and cautious, he continued to scent his way through the trees until he came upon a break between the trunks. His body wound around thick raised roots, looking cautiously into the empty place that he knew his target would be.

 

It was not what Draco expected.

 

Yes, he was there… but he was sitting, eyes closed and legs folded, hands resting on his knees. No wand in sight. There was just enough light for Draco to make out his profile in the gloom. It was amazing how he looked exactly the same as Draco remembered, but at the same time vastly different.

 

Draco watched him silently, waiting for anything. But Potter did not move. He was motionless, his terrible hair was a bit longer than when Draco had last seen him on _that_ day, and messier than ever. The round frames of his glasses were dull, there was stubble across the line of his jaw. His robes were shabby and frayed, and his body was as skinny and stunted as it had always been. Draco watched as his chest rose and fell slowly, and still he did not move. But he spoke.

 

“ _I know you’re there._ ” The soft hissing surprised Draco, if he had been in his human body he would have jumped. As it was, he coiled in on himself nervously.

 

“ _It is strange to come across a wizard in a place such as this._ ” He replied carefully. Potter still did not move.

 

“ _Perhaps, but this place has something I need.”_ He said, chest rising and falling again.

 

 _“What is it that you need?”_ Draco asked, intrigued. He slid a few inches past the treeline, closer to the empty space where Potter sat.

 

 _“When I find it, I’ll let you know.”_ He sighed and opened his eyes, his head turning in Draco’s direction. _“Come out so that I can see you.”_ He requested softly. Draco slid slowly from between the trees, afraid and strangely exhilarated.

 

This was Potter after all, the most elusive and enigmatic prat in the wizarding world to date. No one had heard from him in five years, but here he was, sitting in the dirt in the middle of nowhere.

 

 _“I've never seen a snake such as you in this forest before.”_ He offered, frowning.

 

 _“There has never been a snake such as me in this forest before.”_ Draco responded cryptically, slithering around Potter.

 

Potter turned his head to follow his progress and said,

 

_“A bit full of yourself, don't you think?”_

 

 _“No. Cold is what I am.”_ Draco whispered as a breeze passed over them. He could taste the impending snow in the air as it ruffled Potter's hair.

 

 _“Yes…”_ Potter murmured, looking up at the darkening sky. _“Come with me.”_

 

He stood and brushed off his robes before striding off into the woods at an even pace. Interested and surprised at how well their first interaction had gone, Draco followed. Potter walked with confidence, his feet knew the path. Before long they came to a small rundown cabin, half covered in thick, leafless vines. Potter entered and left the door ajar.

 

Draco paused just outside, tasting the air on impulse. Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world and defeater of the most powerful dark wizard in history, was inside this dirty shack. He had disappeared right after the end of the war and no one knew what he had been up to. But Draco could close that little bit of space and find out… all those questions answered, all the mysteries solved…

 

His most hated rival and his secrets laid bare…

 

Draco felt a flare of warmth from inside the door and closed the distance, looking in on the tiny room inside. There was barely enough room for a rickety bed, washing basin, some dusty shelves, an iron cauldron, and fire grate. The grate was the source of the warmth, flames had flared to life, filling the small space with heat.

 

Unable to resist, Draco entered and coiled his body on the coarse rug that laid before the grate. Potter had sat heavily on the edge of the bed a few feet away, hand raking through his hair as he yawned. In the light of the fire Draco could see the glint of his green eyes, the black unshaven hairs on his face and chin. He was so different, yet unchanged.

 

Dropping his forearms to his knees, he studied Draco. _“Where did you come from?”_ He asked.

 

_“A place far from here. That was not so cold.”_

 

 _“If you hate it so much, why don't you go back?”_ Potter asked, his brows furrowed.

 

 _“Because I am searching for something.”_ Draco responded.

 

_“What are you searching for?”_

 

_“When I find it, I shall let you know.”_

 

Potter let out a short bark of laughter and grinned down at him, his teeth glinting in the firelight.

 

 _“Do you have a name?”_ He then asked. Draco paused, he had not thought of that.

 

 _“I do not.”_ He replied.

 

 _“I will have to name you then.”_ Potter said, narrowing his eyes in concentration.

 

 _“How about… ferret?”_ He asked, grinning again.

 

Draco recoiled in anger. How dare he! Did he know?! Was it possible? Surely not!

 

 _“I am not!”_ He hissed angrily. Potter laughed. Laughed!

 

 _“Okay, okay, I didn't mean to offend you. You just kind of remind me of someone is all…”_ Draco watched his face closely and remained silent, his body tight. _“Alright how about…”_ Draco watched as he bit his lip, frowning again. _“How about Draco?”_ He asked, his voice low, a foreign look in his eyes.

 

 _“Why Draco?”_ He asked carefully.

 

 _“It just seems to suit you is all.”_ Potter replied, chin resting in one of his hands. Draco let his body relax slightly, slow in his disbelief.

 

 _“That is acceptable.”_ He replied simply.

 

_“Good. Now that that is settled, it's nice to meet you Draco. My name is Harry.”_

 

Potter smiled and Draco wanted to punch him in his smug face. Ferret. _Honestly._

 

He watched as Potter rose and walked over to the fire, pulling a kettle off of one of the shelves and hanging it on the iron hook to heat. His knees cracked loudly as he bent down and he sighed, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

 

 _“You’re an odd color for a snake.”_ He said, glancing back at Draco.

 

 _“Am I?”_ Draco questioned. He found that he was unsure of how to speak to Potter, without the years of resentment between them. At least on Potter’s end.

 

 _“Yeah, never seen a white snake before. Odd.”_ He repeated, his last word punctuated a deep yawn.

 

Draco was silent and after a few moments the kettle whistled and Potter made himself a cup of tea.

 

 _“I haven’t spoken to a snake in a long time. It’s weird.”_ Potter murmured, shooting Draco an awkward glance.

 

 _“Well I’ve never spoken to a human before. It’s weird for me too.”_ Potter glanced at him again and nodded while he stirred his tea. He sat back on the bed and blew the steam from his cup and gazed at Draco with a suspiciously thoughtful expression.

 

 _“Well you’re welcome to stay for a while if you want. It’s not much, but at least it’s warmer in here than it is out there.”_ Potter offered, sipping his tea. Draco had no plans to leave until he convinced Potter to return to London, but Potter didn’t need to know that.

 

They were both silent for a few minutes as Potter finished his tea, looking at each other while not looking at each other. Draco wanted to study him, more interested than ever and bursting with questions. But he also didn’t want to give Potter any more reasons to associate him with his wizard self. He was still amazed that Potter had chosen to name him Draco… Why not Malfoy? Why Draco specifically?

 

 _“I'm tired,”_ Potter finally spoke, letting out another yawn, _“so I'm going to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”_

 

Draco watched silently as Potter pulled his robes over his head and was left in a ragged muggle clothes before crawling under the thick blanket. He became a misshapen lump, offending black hair sticking out from one end.

 

Draco lay coiled on the rug in front of the fire, watching Potters breathing slow, processing the events of the day. He had actually found him. His mother's information had been correct. Harry bloody Potter was lying in a bed mere feet away, after all these years. It was strange and surreal. Now all Draco had to do was earn his trust and somehow convince him to go back to London, while making it think it was his idea. He and his mother had worked too hard, they couldn't stand to have it all ruined. They needed Potter. But how to do it?

 

Draco didn't have a clue.

 

He watched as the lump of blanket adjusted and sighed. It had been so long. Potter could be an entirely different person… Draco certainly was. He didn't even know where to begin. He curled in on himself more tightly, resting his head on his long belly as he watched the lump shift again, then a drowsy sigh,

 

_“Goodnight Draco.”_

 

* * *

  
  


Apparently, Potter did an incredible amount of nothing. Draco quietly shadowed him for days, watching as he sat silently in the little clearing for hours at a time, waded in a nearby stream catching fish with a rough pole and line, gathered stray wood for fires, checked traps made of sticks and string for various game, and took pointless strolls through the trees.

 

He did not often speak, but at times he asked Draco odd questions pertaining to his form or habits. Draco was momentarily baffled by his request touch his scaled back, suffering through the hesitant touch with less grace than he would have liked. Potter once offered Draco a rabbit that he found struggling in one of his stick and string contraptions but Draco declined, assuring Potter that he could catch his own dinner. He had become an odd, stilted man in his self imposed exile, awkward and confusing, and at times Draco didn’t know what to think of him.

 

The most infuriating aspect of this strange companionship was Draco’s inability to insult or question him. Potter could not know that Draco knew who he was, or that Draco was anything more than the large serpent he had come across in the woods. Getting answers out of the man without asking any questions was a nearly impossible task, but Draco was up for the challenge.

 

One afternoon two weeks after their initial meeting found Draco draped along a tree branch above a little brook while Potter waded slowly with his strange pole and line. While the bulk of his body was tightly secured to the branch, he allowed his head and neck to dangle carefully, only a couple of yards from Potter's head.

 

 _“You’re a strange creature, out here alone when your species is so social by nature.”_ Draco stated, eyes following the cast of line.

 

 _“I needed a break for a while.”_ Potter murmured, he always insisted that Draco be quiet while he did this, Draco hadn’t the faintest clue why.

 

_“Not that I don’t agree that humans in general are a nasty lot, but solitary life is unhealthy for you.”_

 

 _“And you know so much about people do you?”_ Potter goaded lightly.

 

_“I am no expert on humans, but any fool knows that you live in social groups. Unlike we serpents, who prefer solitude.”_

 

_“I think you’re just trying to get rid of me so you can have all the rabbits and my warm cabin to yourself.”_

 

_“Hardly.”_

 

The weather grew cooler, snow had not yet fallen, but it wouldn’t be long. Some days Draco chose to stay in the cabin to soak up the heat from the fire that Potter had taken to keeping lit, as per Draco’s complaining. He would lay on the dirty rug while Potter disappeared for hours, meditating or wandering. One thing that struck Draco as very strange was that he had yet to see Potter use his wand, or any type of magic in general. His presence was soaked in magic, his aura was immense, but he kept it wound tightly around him. It was as though he had committed to living as a muggle and Draco couldn’t fathom why. When looking back on it, he realized he hadn’t seen Potter's wand at all. This was especially intriguing considering his wands history.

 

He did however, receive regular correspondence from his friends. One morning Draco was woken by the screech of an owl perched just outside the small cabins lone window. He watched silently as Potter rose from the bed, clumsy and sluggish to the window to undo the latch and allow the owl entrance. It hopped inside and stopped, swiveling its head around to glare at Draco. It screeched again, loudly and angrily, puffing its feathers.

 

Potter blinked his eyes open, looking between the two.

 

 _“She doesn’t think much of you does she?”_ He said, voice still rough with sleep. He gently tugged the letter and small parcel from the owl and was nearly bit as she screeched again indignantly before taking off out the window with a flurry of cold air. Potter shut and latched the window and gaped after her. _“She usually stays for my reply. Weird.”_

 

 _“Owls are often jealous of serpents. We rarely get along.”_ Draco replied casually, brushing it off. Potter merely ‘mm’d before sitting on the rickety bed and began to open the envelope. He read his letter silently and smiled, the expression softening his face into something completely different. He sat the letter on the bed and turned to the small package. Upon opening, he pulled out a full set of winter robes, gloves, and a thick knitted scarf in red and gold. Draco made an effort not to roll his eyes.

 

 _“My friend knitted this scarf. She used to be terrible at knitting, but she said she’s been practicing. Looks like she’s gotten a lot better.”_ He said, still smiling. He wrapped the horrid thing around his neck and looked like a complete fool with half of his hair stuck under it and the other half sticking straight up in the air. This idiot defeated the Dark Lord. Draco suppressed a sigh.

 

 _“So the strange human has friends after all.”_ He offered.

 

 _“Of course I do. Best two friends in the world, I’d do anything for them.”_ He replied wistfully, looking at the letter again.

 

_“Yet you’re here, hiding away from them.”_

 

 _“I’m not hiding from_ them.” Potter argued, scowling. But Draco slithered closer, triumphant.

 

_“Then why are you shut away here, instead of being with them?”_

 

 _“You don’t understand. You’re just a snake. Things have happened, it's not that simple.”_ Potter had stood and began to pace, letter still in his hands. Draco recoiled so he didn’t get stepped on.

 

_“What things?”_

 

 _“There was a war, it's… It was.”_ He stopped, facing away from Draco, who held his breath. _“It’s a long story. I don’t want to talk about it.”_ Then he pulled on his raggedy robes and promptly left the cabin, shutting the door behind him in a clear order to not follow.

 

It was this interaction that made Draco realize that he had been going about this task the wrong way. Potter was a stubborn arse and the more Draco tried to convince him to leave, the more he’d dig his heels in and want to stay. He would have to come to the decision on his own, but the stupid git was adamant on staying in the stupid drafty cabin where he was completely useless to Draco's cause. It was then that Draco decided that he would need an outside source.

 

Which is why he found himself in a small village early one morning, taking a deep breath of cold air through his human lungs and relishing the feel of his own two legs. Potter had been fast asleep when Draco had slithered out of the cabin. He hoped to be back before his _friend_ woke, but if he wasn’t he could always say he had gone out to hunt down a meal.

 

It was a wizarding village, far enough from Potter that he could be confident he wouldn’t be seen, but close enough to get back to the cabin quickly. It was mostly empty in the early hours of the morning, but the owl post office was open and he had his letter written and sent and was slithering quietly back to the cabin within an hour. He was even fortunate enough to come across a large rat in some underbrush and had a quick meal. Potter would be none the wiser.  

 

As he made his way back to the cabin, he preoccupied himself with silently cursing the cold, hating the way his body slowed and ached. He was so distracted that he didn’t sense the large being watching his progress between the trees. Upon scenting the air, he finally realized that he was not alone and immediately coiled in on himself, heading turning this way and that in search of the threat.

 

A thestral appeared slowly through the trees, its large pupil-less eyes staring at him blankly. If he was in his human form with his wand, the beast would not be a threat. In his current form, however, he was likely to be eaten.

 

Draco cursed silently and hissed, pulling his head back and preparing to strike, opening his mouth wide to show his formidable teeth. The thestral did not appear threatened. It blew a heavy gust of air out of it’s nostrils and stomped once, readying itself. For the first time in five years, Draco was truly afraid, but also angry. He had come all this way and put up with Potters eccentric nonsense for weeks only to be killed and eaten by this bloody creature.

 

It took a step forward, then another. Draco sucked in air to inflate his body in a last attempt to scare the creature off. He was a rather large snake, but he wasn’t venomous and unless he could somehow wrap himself around the beast's neck quickly it would stomp him to death.

 

The thestral stomped again and reared, flapping its massive batlike wings in it’s own display of power, then began to close the distance between them quickly. Draco prepared himself, mouth open and neck coiled tightly, he was about to strike, just a bit closer-

 

A furious eruption of magic swirled around him, blindingly bright as it blew leaves and branches around him in its wake. The light formed instantly and solid in front of Draco’s face as he was shielded from the creature. It reared just on the other side of the shield, snorting angrily before rising from the ground in a burst of air and dead leaves and flew up through the branches and out of sight.

 

Draco was frozen, his heart beating wildly as he let out the air he had been holding with a low hiss. Potter stepped into his field of vision, looking down at him with what was obviously concern. The magic had died down as quickly as it had come, and was wrapping itself tightly around his body just as it had been before. For a moment Draco was speechless, he had never seen such a look from the boy - _man_ \- who had always been his nemesis.

 

 _“Are you alright?”_ Potter asked.

 

 _“Fine, but I would have handled it on my own.”_ Draco spat on impulse and immediately regretted it.

 

 _“Next time I won’t bother then.”_ Potter said, all emotion gone from his face before he turned and started off through the trees. Cursing himself, Draco followed.

 

The cabin door was open when he arrived, but only just. He nudged the gap wider with his nose and slowly slid through the door to see Potter stroking the fire with jabbing motions. His robes were shabbier than ever, and there was a frayed hole on the left shoulder. His boots were caked in mud. Draco slid around cautiously to study his face. His expression was blank, eye gazing into the fire emptily.

 

Draco gathered his pride and put it temporarily away.

 

_“Thank you. I do not think being eaten would have been a pleasant experience.”_

 

Potter looked over at him, firelight flickering in his eyes.

 

 _“You’re welcome.”_ He smiled. It was the same gentle smile Draco had seen when he read the letter from his friends. For some reason, this affected him. He relaxed as Potter stood and walked back to the door to strip off his boots. The cabin was warm, as though warming charms had been cast. Draco curled around himself in front of the fire and watched the boy who lived take off his boots to reveal tatty socks with holes in them and wondered at the confusion he felt. Perhaps he was just older, or perhaps it had just been so long, or maybe it was because no one was here to see them, but Draco was finding it harder and harder to hate the man. The sight of him still irritated him to no end, from his nasty socks to his tangled hair, but it was a resigned irritation. It was… familiar. Comfortable.  

 

As Draco was in the middle of a small internal crisis about his lack of severe hate for the one person he had always enjoyed hating, it was a terrible time for Potter to suddenly strip off his robes and t-shirt in one go. Draco’s eyes were assaulted by the image of Potter naked from the waist up. And he was not nearly as scrawny and underfed as Draco had made himself believe.

 

He was lean, yes, but his shoulders were wide and his arms were thick and corded and his waist was trim, hip bones peeking out from his belt line. There was a smatter of dark hair coming up in a line from below his trousers. With an angry realization, Draco noted that Potter was in better shape than himself. Which was completely unacceptable.

 

Draco was broken out of his thoughts when Potter transfigured the small wash basin into a full sized copper tub. Without a verbally cast spell or a wand. In his shocked state, he nearly blew his cover by commenting, but he caught himself before the words slid their way out of his mouth. Potter was doing wandless _and_ wordless magic. No wonder he was hiding out in the middle of nowhere! Not even the Dark Lord was capable of performing wandless and wordless magic simultaneously. If the wizarding public knew of this, they would eat Potter alive with speculation.

 

Next thing Draco knew the tub had been filled with steaming water and Potter was undoing the clasp on his trousers. Feeling sick, Draco murmured something about being hungry and made his way out of the door and as far away from Potter as he could.

 

* * *

  
  


Snow had finally begun to fall. It had been nearly two months since Draco found Potter, and though he had formed some kind of reluctant friendship with him, he was still no closer to his ultimate goal. He had however, gained some knowledge about his former rival.

 

One afternoon while Potter was skinning a rabbit for a stew he had brewing in his coudron, Draco had asked why it was that he sat like a stone on the ground so often and what it accomplished. Potters unexpected response surprised him.

 

_“I don’t know if you know, but there was a war a few years ago, between wizards. It was brutal, and painful, and a lot of people died. It left me with some… scars. Magical scars. Sometimes I have trouble controlling my magic. The meditation helps.”_

 

It took Draco a few moments to form his response. _“But wizards use wands to control and direct their magic.”_ Potter turned to look at him with a frown and Draco worried he had gone too far, but then Potter turned back to his task.

 

 _“Wands don’t work for me anymore.”_ He replied simply, and Draco left it at that.

 

Another day, Potter announced that he had to go into town to have an owl send a letter to his friends, as he had been unable to reply via the owl they had sent. Draco said he would stay at the cabin while he ran this errand, as he privately thought having a great big white snake following Harry Potter though a wizarding village would raise a lot of questions that Draco, and Potter, were not ready for. Potter was gone for a few hours and when he came back, he surprised Draco with a gift.

 

 _“What is it?”_ Draco had asked.

 

 _“It's a charmed rug. A lady in the village makes them. She knits them herself then charms them to be everwarm. It’ll never go cold. Look,”_ and Potter removed the old dirt covered rug from the floor and replaced it with the new one. It was knitted with silver and deep, rich green. Draco was again suspicious. _“Try it.”_ Potter offered pleasantly.

 

Draco eyed him carefully then slid onto the rug. He had been right, the threads were warm and soothing on his belly. It had been an incredibly thoughtful gift. He curled his body comfortably on the rug, then gazed up at Potters innocently eager face and felt all the pain from his denied friendship return with full force. Was this what he had missed all those years ago?

 

 _“Thank you.”_ Draco said simply, as he couldn’t say anything else.

 

 _“You’re welcome Draco.”_ Potter responded.

 

On the day the snow had started to fall, Draco hissed a curse at the window, causing Potter to laugh.

 

_“It’s just snow. It won’t kill you.”_

 

 _“You think that. Terrible, cold, painful thing it is.”_ He grumbled, curling back up on his enchanted rug. Potter sat on the bed, legs covered with his blanket as he wrote in a book propped up on his lap. The scratching of his quill was the only noise in their tiny cabin, minus Draco’s quiet complaining.

 

 _“You should go somewhere warmer, since you hate the cold so much.”_ Potter told him, matter of factly.

 

_“Travelling so far would take a long time.”_

 

 _“Would it? You’re not a normal snake. Surely you could manage.”_ Draco swiveled his head around to look at him properly.

 

_“What makes you think I’m not a normal snake?”_

 

 _“Well, I dunno. I just kind of figured you weren’t.”_ Potter said, his voice quiet and his eyes far away.

 

It disturbed Draco to think Potter may have been thinking of the Dark Lord’s serpent, Nagini. Is that what he thought of when he looked at Draco?

 

_“Some snakes are more intelligent than others. Just like some wizards are more intelligent than others.”_

 

 _“I suppose you’re right.”_ Potter responded, a grim smile on his face.

 

The snow only grew heavier as the days went on, and the cabin seemed to shrink. With the infernal weather, Draco could no longer get away from Potter. He learned things about the man that he never wanted to know, such as that he snored, and that he tossed in his sleep quite a lot. Sometimes, he woke up screaming.

 

It also amazed Draco to learn that Potter, in reality, did at least attempt to tame his ratty hair. There were a few occasions when Draco watched as Potter combed and pressed and wetted and dried and made every effort to make it lie flat and it absolutely refused. It was though the mop had a mind of its own and Draco found himself pitying the poor man, feeling sorry for every time he had made a comment about the disaster that was Harry Potters hair.

 

Draco had taken to feigning sleep whenever Potter bathed. It disturbed him greatly, how much he wanted to watch, which made him only more determined not to. It also made him miss Blaise, and wish that he had had more time before he set out to find Potter, time for a night of his pleasurable company instead of the hurried letter he had sent instead. Potter was becoming ridiculously nice to look at, which Draco blamed on the simple fact that he was the _only_ thing to look at, and left it at that.

 

It had also become evident that Potter did miss his friends. He received two more owls with letters and packages, one full of honeydukes sweets and a case of bottled butterbeer, and another with tea and books of varying titles and subjects. His face bore the softest expression when he read these letters, and Draco could feel the sense of melancholy radiating off of him as he sat there clutching the parchment in his hands.

 

He also waited for signs that his mother had done as he asked, but so far it seemed to have not happened.

 

The air in the cabin grew colder and the nights grew longer. Draco suspected it must be close to Christmas and was strangely not as bothered about missing it as he would have thought. Instead, he faced a quiet Christmas with the world's most elusive wizard and his ugly scarf. Potter offered to drape the scarf across Draco once when he complained of being cold, but promptly rescinded the offer when Draco threatened to eat it.

 

During the nights, the cold had become so intense for Draco that he found himself very stiff and hardly able to move. Potter expressed his concern in strange ways, such as casting wordless and wandless warming charms all over the cabin, but they could only do so much when the temperature outside was so low. He also offered to fill the tub with warm water but Draco declined, afraid to fall asleep in a warm tub and wake up frozen in ice. There was more than once that Draco considered leaving so that he could transfigure back into his true body just for a moment of relief, but didn’t. He had worked too hard to gain Potters trust.

 

Late one night, Potter asked a question, Draco had been dozing and turned to look at Potter and found that he could barely move his head, even with the charmed rug warm underneath him. Potter knelt down in front of him, frowning in concern. _“Look, you’re miserable. We have to do something.”_ Potter expressed, and Draco momentarily held hope that Potter would offer to finally leave the cabin and rejoin the wizarding world, but his hope was crushed when Potter reached down and _picked him up._  

 

 _“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”_ Draco hissed angrily.

 

Potter groaned, adjusting his grip on Draco as Draco tried to squirm out of his arms in protest. _“Would you calm the hell down? Merlin, you’re heavy!”_ He groaned before setting Draco heavily down onto his mattress. He then began to disrobe.

 

 _“What are you doing?!”_ Draco nearly shouted in his panic, because for some reason nothing was more terrifying at that moment than Harry Potter taking his clothes off.

 

_“Body heat, it’ll help you warm up. We’ll get under the blankets and you can sleep with me. Unless you want to wake up dead?”_

 

 _“You can not ‘wake up dead’.”_ Draco retorted, unable to look directly at Potter as he took his t-shirt off. Thankfully he kept the trousers.

 

 _“You’ll thank me in the morning.”_ Potter chirped, flopping down on the bed and pulling his thick blanket over them both. The relief was instant. Draco’s traitorous body greedily pressed against Potters and he twitched, _“Cold!”_ he whined, and soaked up the warmth. He hadn’t been so warm in days.

 

He wiggled his body until it was aligned along Potters wiry frame and his tail was curled around his naked feet. For such a skinny man, Potter generated an amazing amount of body heat. Draco hadn’t realized how cold he truly was until he wasn’t anymore. It was all he could do to not wrap himself completely around Potter.

 

“Better?” He asked, closing his eyes and sighing. Draco snuck his head out of the covers and rested it along his shoulder, watching him with one eye.

 

Draco didn’t respond. He was in bed with Harry Potter. All of those nagging thoughts he had been stubbornly ignoring resurfaced. He felt himself wracked with guilt and self doubt. Before he had set out on this endeavour, it had seemed an easy thing to find Harry Potter and trick him into returning to the wizarding world and use him to further their cause. After all, he and Potter had never been friends, and it's not as though he was plotting to hurt Potter or anyone else. Using him to their advantage didn’t seem harmful, just necessary.

 

But now it was different. He was no longer Harry bloody Potter, all-worshiped-boy-who-got-all-the-bloody-attention. No longer was he the terrible plague that had haunted Draco at school, the boy who had embarrassed him and physically hurt him, who made his life hell and thwarted him at every turn. That boy was gone.

 

In his place there was a quiet, darkly intriguing man who worried over him and brought him gifts and _cuddled_ with him to keep him warm. Of course Draco was not fooling himself into thinking that Potter would have done any of those things had he known who Draco really was. Hence the guilt…

 

Merlin, he felt guilty for deceiving him. In a wild moment of uncharacteristic morality, Draco considered changing back and explaining, telling Potter the truth. But, his cowardness won out. There was no way he would chance that. He needed Potter, and Potter would probably hex him on sight.

 

Honesty was not an option. But perhaps it wasn’t his only option. Draco gazed at him as his breathing slowed, his mouth parted slightly as he drifted off. He had offered his hand in friendship to Potter once before… all those years ago. Perhaps now… after the war… they had changed, hadn’t they? They weren’t children anymore… His mother's words came back to haunt him bitterly. _“It was always your deepest wish Draco. I know you never let go of it, no matter how much you profess to hate him.” …_

 

Alright, yes. As much as he _hated_ Potter, somewhere, deep down in the depths of his subconscious, yes. He still wanted it. He had always wanted it. Potter was the first person he had chosen to reach out to who had not been previously inspected and approved by his father. He had sought a friend of his own, one who couldn’t be bought or controlled by Lucius. But of course the stupid git had taken his offered friendship and promptly thrown it back at his face.

 

Draco had lost count of all the times he tossed and turned at night after a particularly vicious row with him, wondering bitterly if things could have been different. Wondering if he could have shared the comradeship that he so easily had with Weasley and Granger. Wondering if he could have gone down a different path… if he could have avoided his particular part in the war.

 

Obviously it was not meant to be. But that didn’t mean that Draco could not offer his hand again, now that everything was over… maybe Potter would react differently. Maybe he would accept. Or maybe he would spit on Draco all over again, causing him to relive the shame of his youth. He honestly didn’t think he could bear it. Potter let out a short snore and Draco nearly jumped out of his skin, then settled back down. He was so warm…

 

His slightly hawkish nose was thrown into shadow from the firelight beyond. He had forgotten to remove his glasses before falling asleep, he would probably sleep on them again, he’d wake up with an indention across his face and his glasses hanging off of one ear. Draco sighed. Friendship… with Harry Potter.

 

The one thing he had always secretly wanted, and believed it would forever be out of his reach, was suddenly possible. And terrifying.

 

Draco didn’t get much sleep that night, or for the next few nights, as it had become habit for Potter to lift of the blanket in welcome as Draco slithered underneath. Their harmless bickering continued during the short, cold days as the snow turned into more of a blizzard, rising up to the bottom of the cabin window. Potter kept the fire going and the warming charm on Draco’s rug was ever strong, and Potter spent his days pulling ingredients off of his shelves and lifting stasis charms for soups that he made in his cauldron. Had Draco possessed his human nose it would probably have smelled good, but as his tastes were rather different in his animagus form he continuously whined about the _‘nasty rotten food smell’_ that permeated the cabin. Potter retorted that at least he had the courtesy to not eat his food while it was still living.

 

The letter Draco had sent to his mother finally bore fruit a few days later. Draco was startled when a large haughty grey owl rapped viciously on the window, bearing a thickly rolled parchment. Potter allowed the bird entrance and shut the window behind it quickly, as snow and begun to flurry about the room. It screeched at Draco, holding both wings away from its body as it watched him warily.

 

 _“What is it with you and owls?”_ Potter asked, shaking his head as he gingerly detached the scroll. The owl then turned and flapped anxiously at the window and Potter let it out, staring incredulously after it. As he looked back down and unfurled the parchment a clipping from THE PROPHET fell out and onto the floor. Potter glanced down at it but read the letter first, frowning.

 

Draco crept silently closer to the paper clipping on the floor and angled his head so that he could read the words.

 

**ANTI-DEATH EATER ATTACKS GROWING**

The Ministry of Magic is left floundering this week after no less

than three separate attacks were made on ex-Death Eater

families. Though the war is long won and You-Know-Who vanquished

by the strangely absent Boy-Who-Lived, it seems that not all the

fighting is over. A group of extremists known as ‘The War Council’

have left public messages, claiming that their efforts will not cease.

So far no one has been seriously injured, though Ms Matilda Maulks

was required to spend the night in St Mungo’s for a curse, the name

of which has yet to be release to be public. Ms Maulks’ sister was a Death

Eater who has been sentenced to life in Azkaban for using the Cruciatus

Curse on-

 

Draco was unable to read further as Potter grabbed the paper off of the floor as scanned over it, knuckles white. Draco was just able to make out the small picture of the author at the bottom and recognized Mister Patrick Podjus, who was an old friend of the Black family and who had always been quite enamored with his mother. Judging by Potter’s face, her efforts on Mister Podjus had not been wasted.

 

Potter fell back onto the bed, holding both papers in his hands and staring at them emptily. Draco slithered up onto the bed and around his back, coming to rest on his knee and pushing his head under Potter’s hands.

 

 _“What is it?”_ He asked, using their proximity to get a better look at Potter’s face.

 

 _“My friends sent me a clipping from THE PROPHET, the wizard paper. Some stuff is going on at home.”_ He murmured, still staring at the letter dully.

 

 _“Are your friends in trouble?”_ Draco asked covertly.

 

 _“No, but some other innocent people might be…”_ Potter said, sighing and looking away from the paper and out the window. He was silent for a bit and Draco stared up at him, debating on the right combination of words.

 

But strangely, he could think of none and eventually the papers were put away and the subject was not mentioned again, though Potter seemed much more subdued. Gone were his digs at Draco’s expense and his joking manner, instead he was quiet and reserved. When Draco attempted to draw him out of himself with a jibe at his hair or his bad human smell, which Draco secretly didn’t mind so much, even in his current form, Potter would smile half heartedly and offer some inane response before continued to stare at the fire or his tea. He lost interest in the little projects that he had left on the shelves left his sweets untouched.

 

He sulked in this manner for nearly a week while Draco waited impatiently, unwilling to deter Potter from making the right decision but nearly splitting with the suspense of waiting on the man to make up his damn mind.

 

It was late one night when Potter finally relented and put Draco out of his misery. The wind was howling and the window looking outside their cabin was nearly completely covered with snow. Draco had been curled up unhappily on his enchanted rug but perked his head up when he watched Potter sit down carefully in front of the fire grate and take a deep, steadying breath. He took a pinch of ashes from a small pot next to the grate and threw them into the fire. Green flames roared to life and Draco jerked to attention as Potter shouted; “Pewter Plaza, London!”

 

The heat from the fire licked at Potters knees as he sat, his hair whipping around wildly for a few seconds before Draco heard a voice he’d never expected to hear again in his life.

“Harry? Mione, it’s Harry!” Weasley’s freckled face appeared in the flames and Draco could just glimpse the living room of a tiny flat beyond before he was again distracted by Weasley’s grating tone. “I can’t believe it mate, it’s been ages! How are you?” He asked eagerly, eyes raking across Potter’s face. Potter smiled in _that_ way, but it was different, more pronounced. It changed his entire face.

 

“I’m okay. Got your owl though. That was a bit of a nasty shock, let me tell you.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

“Harry! It’s so good to see you! Are you alright? Do you have enough food? Are you out of tea? How is the weather, are you snowed in? I can send you some-”

 

“Merlin woman, let him breathe.” Weasley joked as Granger's face appeared next to his.

I’m fine, yeah we’re snowed in but it’s okay. I’ve got enough food for now. I don’t reckon any owl would want to come anyway, it’s been-”

 

“Hang on, who’s we?” Weasley asked, craning his head in the fire to look around before spotting Draco on the rug, who immediately recoiled. “What the bloody hell is that!” He shouted, staring with a look of mixed shock and disgust.

 

“Oh, right. That’s D- uh… Ferret. That’s Ferret.” He finished, nodding. Draco hissed angrily. Granger looked over at him with interest, but Weasley scowled.

 

“Well I guess there is a resemblance, now that you mention it. Have you been… you know. With it?” He nodded over at Draco and looked back at Potter.

 

“Yeah. Nice to have someone to talk to who doesn’t ask all those questions, you know.”

 

Weasley nodded, looking a bit troubled. It was Granger who spoke next.

 

“He’s quite large, are you sure he’s safe?” She inquired, her brow furrowed.

 

“Yeah he’s fine. He’s a bit of a prat but we get along alright. Complains a lot about the cold.” Potter said, grinning a bit. Draco huffed.

 

“Yes well I’m sure it’s difficult for him.” She offered. “So, Harry, about the paper…” She trailed off, biting her lip.

 

There was a pause between the three of them as Potter and Weasley exchanged glances and Potter sighed.

 

“You should have told me earlier.” He said quietly, looking down at his hands.

 

“Well we wanted to, mate, but Mione said that it would be defeating the purpose of why you went away in the first place, to get away from it all. I reckon you had a right to know-”

 

“Of course you have a right to know Harry but you needed time. Have you made any progress?” She asked tentatively. Draco perked up again, insanely interested.

 

“A bit. Not as much as I’d like.” He answered, unhelpfully.  

 

“Well I’m sure it’ll get easier. I still think that we could help you if you’d let us.” She offered softly, Weasley nodded in agreement.

 

“I know. Thanks. I,” He paused, blowing out a heavy breath. “I think I’m ready. I didn’t know this was happening, I feel like I should be there-”

 

“Harry Potter don’t you dare come back simply because you feel like it is your duty to put a stop to this, you’ve done enough and everyone knows that, just because you’re-”

 

“Just because I’m what? The Chosen One? The one who is always supposed to swoop in and save the day? You read that article, people are already talking-”

 

“People have been talking for years, mate. They’re never going to stop.” Weasley offered. Draco soured when he realized he agreed.

 

“I know. But honestly, it’s not only that. It’s just that… well I’ve been thinking and… Well, I think I’m ready.” He said, looking up at both of them.

 

They were all silent for a moment and there it was, that natural companionship that Draco had always envied. There they were, the Golden Trio in person, living up to their name…

 

“If you think you’re ready Harry then of course we can’t wait to see you.” Granger said, her eyes shiney. “You wouldn’t be alone.”

 

“I know. Thanks guys.” Potter smiled softly. _That_ smile.

 

“What are you going to do with that thing though?” Weasley asked, looking over at Draco again, making a face. Potter laughed.

“I dunno Ron, he’s kind of grown on me. I might see if he wants to come to London with me.”

 

“Well there is plenty of room in Grimmauld Place. Which reminds me, I’ve done some renovations for you, I didn't think you’d mind but I didn’t want you to come home to that depressing house…” She tapered off and Potter looked at her, frowning.

“What kind of renovations?” He asked slowly.

 

“You won’t even recognize the bloody place, she went and redid the drawing room, the kitchen, the-”

 

“Well now most of what I did was just some intense and much needed cleaning! Honestly Ron, it’s still recognizable. Though I still haven’t managed to get rid of that damn portrait,” she grumbled.

 

“What about Sirius’s room?” Potter asked quietly.

 

“I didn't touch Sirius’s room Harry. I didn’t even open the door.” She replied gently. Potter just looked down at his hands, nodding.

 

“Well, I’m bloody stoked! I can’t wait for you to get in, when can I tell mum? She’s going to lose her head.”

 

“Let's wait until I’m there so I can settle in first, yeah? It’s… it’s been a while. Too much at once… you know?” Potter murmured.

 

“Of course.” Weasley responded, chastised.

 

“So when can we expect you?” Granger asked softly.

 

“I guess when it’s safe to fly.” Potter said, glancing behind himself at the snowed in window. “Whenever this blizzard lets up.”

 

“Okay. Can’t wait to see you Harry, really.” She said.

 

“Yeah. I’m glad you’re coming home. It’s been too long.” Weasley offered.

 

“I know. Love you guys. I’ll let you know when I’m in.” He said.

 

“We love you too, Harry. Do let us know. And be safe!” She offered.

 

“Of course. Bye.”

 

“Bye!”

 

“See you soon!”

 

The green flames extinguished and left a normal fire in their place, and the room was suddenly darker and much more quiet. Draco was still trying to process what he had seen when Potter turned to him hesitantly.

 

 _“Those were my friends,”_ He said, nodding to the grate. Draco was struck with the sudden thought that yes, Potter was still an idiot. _“I guess I’m going home. Would you… Well.”_ He rubbed a hand over the back of his head and his hair reacted unfavorably. _“Would you want to come to London with me? To live? Might be boring for you but the house is big enough. I’m sure there are rats around, or I could probably get some.”_ Potter trailed off, frowning at nothing before coming back to himself and looking at Draco sheepishly.

 

This was not a possibility that had occurred to Draco. How the hell was he supposed to keep up this ruse in London, when he was supposed to be Draco Malfoy full time, not _Ferret_ , Potters bloody _pet_. It would be nearly impossible.

 

But since when has Draco shied away from the impossible. Or been able to resist that look on Potters face.

 

He was looking down at Draco, biting his lip like he was nervous, like he cared or some shit-

 

 _“If you don’t want to it’s fine, I just thought I’d offer, I mean I know-”_ He begin to babble but Draco cut him off.

 

_“Is it warm?”_

 

 _“What?”_ Potter blinked.

 

_“Is it warm? Or is it cold like this terrible place?”_

 

 _“It’s warm, yeah. Inside the house is. A lot warmer than this cabin.”_ Potter gestured pointlessly to the space around them.

 

 _“Then yes, I’ll come.”_ He said, internally screaming at himself. Was he insane??

 

 _“Awesome, okay.”_ Potter grinned, bright teeth showing in his pleasure. Draco swallowed. _“It won’t be nearly as bad with you around. I mean, it’s a big house and it’ll get kind of lonely being there by myself, but it won’t be so bad if I have you to talk to.”_ He offered, rising to his feet and looking brighter than Draco had seen him look in weeks. He flung his hand carelessly towards the shelves and various jars flew off of them, dumping their contents into the cauldron, which placed itself over the fire. Draco shuddered. Potter’s magic still creeped him out.

 

And that was it. He watched as Potter ate in silence, staring off into space, then slithered into bed with him later that night. He rested his head on Potter’s chest after he had fallen asleep, studying his face in the firelight.

 

He felt… strange. Melancholy. He had achieved his goal yes, but now it was nearly over, this strange small space that he shared with Potter, away from his friends and Draco’s family and the Ministry and the rest of the wizarding world. Once they left, this secret space between them would be gone. Draco found that… the thought saddened him slightly.

 

Of course he missed his mother. And Blaise. Blaise, who he hadn’t thought of in days. Yes, he missed Blaise. But it was different now, his feelings were all muddled and confused. Not that it would matter to much to Blaise, who never had much interest in feelings, which is one of the things that Draco had always found appealing in a lover. Yes, of course he missed Blaise.

 

Potter’s chest rose as he inhaled deeply in his sleep. Draco adjusted his head and settled back down. It would be good to be back. Once he worked out the cursed schedule he would have to keep. He’d have to wait until Potter left the house and apparate and hope he arrived back at Potter's house before he returned. What a hassle. He mused about how his mother's attempt at Polyjuice potion had gone. She would have made sure he made regular appearances in public so as not to arouse suspicion. It dawned on him suddenly how cut off he’d been from everything, so preoccupied with Potter. Well that would have to change, and would once he was able to get home. Which would be soon, he hoped.

 

He glanced out the window and scowled at the blasted snow once again before closing his eyes.

 

It was six more days before the blizzard had subsided enough for them to travel. Potter had packed all of his meager things into a small rucksack with an undetectable extension charm, which Draco grudgingly thought was clever so it must have come from Granger, and was slipping into his boots when Draco spoke up.

 

 _“I would like my rug.”_ He stated. Potter looked over at Draco, curled on his green and silver rug and grinned.

 

 _“Of course.”_ He obliged, rolling up the rug and stuffing it into his rucksack before standing and throwing it over his shoulder. _“Okay so.”_ He started, staring down at Draco awkwardly. _“You could follow me through the snow. Or I could carry you.”_ Potter offered sheepishly, that terrible scarf wound around his neck.

 

 _“Definitely not.”_ Draco hissed.

 _“Okay. Just wanted to offer.”_ Potter said, biting his lip in a poor attempt to not smile. He glanced around the cabin and sighed, losing himself for a moment. Then he gave himself a small shake and opened the door.

 

It was bright, the sun was shining and reflecting off of the snow, which covered everything around them. Potter started off in a random direction and Draco hoped he knew where he was going, but he had always seemed to so far. He followed in Potter’s tracks, sliding over the snow and silently wincing as it stung him. He barely made it ten minutes before he sighed, _hating_ himself, before mumbling, the name biting his tongue on the way out of his mouth, _“Harry.”_

 

 _“Yes, Draco?”_ Draco could _hear_ the smug smile in his voice, the absolute _bastard._

 

 _“It’s too cold.”_ He muttered mutinously.

 

 _“What would you like me to do about it?”_ He asked, openly smiling now. Draco was going to murder him.

 

 _“Carry me.”_ He ordered dully.

 _“I dunno Draco, it’s kind of a long walk and you’re pretty heav_ -ugh!”

 

Draco wasted no time, He struck out and wrapped his neck around Potter’s ankle, causing him to promptly crash face first into the snow.

 

 _“Hey! You little-”_ But whatever he was, it was cut off as Draco slid up Potter’s leg and rested his considerable length atop his back. _“Ugh, Draco! Get off!”_

 

 _“I’d rather not. It’s quite warm here.”_ He responded simply.

 

_“Dammit Draco, you shit, I’ll carry you, get off!”_

 

 _“Are you sure? I know I’m quite substantial, I’d hate to be a burden.”_ Draco hissed gently, right near Potter’s ear.

 

 _“Of course not, I’d be happy to carry you.”_ Potter bit out nastily.

 

 _“If you insist.”_ Draco slid off of him slowly, feeling smug.

 

Potter stood, brushing snow off of his clothes and out of his hair. He glared at Draco and huffed, holding out his arms. Draco obliged, slithering up his leg and wrapping twice around his torso and coming to rest his chest and neck in Potter’s arms.

 

Draco enjoyed the ride to the small wizarding village that was their destination. The walk took them about two hours. Draco wondered, more than once, why Potter didn’t just apparate, but knew better than to ask.

 

It was about midday when they arrived and they walked silently through busy streets, earning stares that made Draco powerfully uncomfortable. Potter said nothing but Draco could feel the tense set of his shoulders as he walked. They ended up at a small cottage on the other side of the village, set on the outskirts, with a couple of chickens meandering around a small shed in the back.

 

Draco was surprised but said nothing when Potter knocked on the door and waited patiently for a good four minutes before it opened slowly, revealing a small withered old woman, her eyes so thickly covered in a white film that Draco knew immediately that she was blind.

 

“My dear boy, what a pleasant surprise. Come in, come in.” She said in a thickly accented tone. Shestood back, allowing them entrance into her cramped home. It was cluttered inside, with chairs and afghans and various empty teacups and, judging from the smell, at least three cats. “Do you need the key?” She asked, staring up at them eerily.

 

“Yes, Greta, please.” Potter answered softly, allowing the elderly woman to take his hand. Draco shuddered. No thank you.

“Hmm. This way.” She led them to a tiny alcove off of the kitchen and gestured to a long rack of at least thirty different keys. Potter picked one small gold key off of the rack easily and turned to her.

 

“Thank you, again.”

 

“Going home, are you?” She asked, rubbing her dry hands together.

 

“Yes, I think so.” Potter answered with a small smile.

 

“About time. Don’t you forget about me out here.” She ordered.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He nodded his head and she waved them silently out of the door.

 

 _“Well that was creepy.”_ Draco deadpanned once they were out of earshot. Potter smiled and shook his head. He walked around the house and out to the tiny shed in the back and, using the small gold key, opened the door.

 

Draco stared. No. No way. He would not.

 

 _“I’m not getting on that.”_ He said, unable to look away. The thing was huge, one of those ‘motocicles’ that muggles rode around on. Black and gleaming, it looked terrifying.

 

 _“Why not?”_ Potter laughed. Why was Potter always laughing at him?

 

 _“It will probably kill us.”_ He answered, as though it was obvious.

 

 _“Nah, it's completely safe. And fun too.”_ He shrugged and walked over to the terrible thing, swinging a leg over and straddling it. Draco tightened himself around Potter in fear. _“Oh come on Draco, it won’t be that bad.”_ Potter laughed again. Draco clamped his mouth shut as Potter did something and the beast below them _roared._

 

Potter backed it out of the little shed and pulled the front around, facing the road. _“You might want to crawl into my coat, it’s going to be cold!”_ Potter shouted over the roar.

 

Indignantly, Draco yelled back, _“You said there wouldn't be any more cold! I’ve changed my mind! Put me down, I’m staying here!”_ He nearly screeched as the thing roared louder. Potter didn’t answer, but he laughed joyously and then pulled that cursed scarf up over his nose and mouth. Draco frantically wound his way under Potter’s coat and allowed his head to just poke out at the neck before the thing below them began to move, rolling roughly over the uneven terrain.

 

 _“Get ready!”_ Potter shouted, he did something to the black beast and suddenly the jarring sensation of riding over the ground vanished with a hefty jerk and there was nothing but noise and cold and brightness and air and-

 

And they were flying.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its been a while and I never did find a beta, so I apologize for any mistakes. I've started part three and it shouldn't take nearly as long for me to post it as this one did. Sorry for the wait, I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Note: the last scene in this chapter was written to the song My Sweet Prince, by Placebo. 
> 
> https://play.spotify.com/user/1291716342/playlist/2RF9cZQeCoOUk25yF3oC4t
> 
> This is the playlist that inspired this story, the song is on it. Thanks for reading!

Ron had been right, the house was nearly unrecognizable. Hermione had redone nearly everything, the floors, the walls, even the furniture had been replaced or cleaned vigorously. The banisters had been stripped down and restained, the lights replaced and updated, even the doors and knobs had been renewed. Grimmauld Place had been transformed from a dark, depressing house to a bright, tasteful and comforting home. The only thing that remained from the days of the war was that damnable portrait, but Hermione had somehow frozen it, as it didn’t wake when Harry blustered in loudly, and the curtains would not open no matter hard he tried to pry at them.

 

Harry had thought he wouldn’t like it, that the house that held so many memories for him, good and bad, would have been tainted. But instead of feeling displaced, he felt relieved. It was still Sirius’s house, but it was Sirius’s house as he would have wanted it to be. Hermione had done a fantastic job.

 

 _“So what do you think?”_ Harry asked Draco as they left the kitchen and began to climb the stairs towards the drawing room. He glanced down at his strange companion. Draco had been silent since they arrived, making his way around the house quietly behind Harry, his thick body coiling around doorframes and table legs.

 _“It’s warmer than your shack had been. I suppose I approve.”_ He hissed gently, his vivid blue eyes taking in the scene around him with caution. He was always that way, so careful and suspicious of everything. Harry wondered if all snakes were like that.

 _“It is, isn’t it.”_ It was quite warm. Harry unwound the scarf from his neck and let it hang off of his shoulders.

 

When they reached the drawing room Harry was momentarily assaulted with memories of the summer he spent removing doxies from the curtains and various creepy objects and artifacts from the glass cabinets. Said curtains had been replaced but the cabinets remained, looking shiny and new. Hermione had also seen fit to purchase new chairs and small side tables, ottomans and thick cozy rugs to cover the dark hardwood floors. He frowned when he realized she had done everything in deep greens with accents of black and silver.

 

 _“I approve of this room.”_ Draco sighed as he made his way over to the massive fireplace, his scaled belly rasping across the hard floor.

 _“You would.”_ Harry grumbled. He seemed to instinctively associate the color green with the odd snake, even though there wasn’t a speck of green on him.

 

Terrible choice of colors aside, this was Harry’s favorite room so far. Hermione had done an entire wall up with oak bookshelves and had completely covered them with books and scrolls of all variations. Harry thought wistfully of the Hogwarts library. The curtains on the far side of the room were drawn open, giving a lovely few of the snow covered streets below.

 

They made their way out of the drawing room and up the stairs to his room, taking a deep breath as he opened the door. He let it out in relief. A huge four poster bed in against one wall brought him back to Hogwarts once again, with dark red curtains and bed coverings. She had the walls painted a tasteful grey and the door to the closet had been removed, leaving an open doorway into the wide space his clothes would be. A set of matching oak dressers and lamps completed the room, leaving it wide and open and uncluttered. Harry approved.

 

He set his rucksack on top of one dresser and turned to flop heavily down onto his bed. The mattress dipped next to him as Draco slithered up and over his belly. Ever since Harry had begun to let him sleep in the bed, Draco seemed to have taken that as an invitation to completely ignore his personal space.

 

 _“You are overwhelmed.”_ He stated, moving slowly over Harry’s stomach. Merlin he was heavy.

 _“A bit.”_ He confessed. It was a rather large house, and much more quiet this time around, without the Order’s occupation. He was very grateful he had convinced Draco to come along.

 _“Would you like me to leave you alone for a while so you can cry about it?”_ Draco asked nastily, one large blue eye staring down at him. Scratch that, not glad Draco had come.

 _“Shove off of me you mutated noodle.”_ He grouched, pushing at the snakes thick belly until he flopped gracelessly onto the floor.

 _“You are a very rude and bad-mannered creature.”_ Draco hissed angrily from the floor as Harry sat up.

 

_“Yeah, and you’re weirdly articulate for a snake.”_

 

_“No, you’re just as dumb as a troll.”_

 

Harry feigned a kick in his direction but Draco merely hissed in a bored manner and slithered towards the door.  

 

Later that evening, after a nice hot shower and a cup of tea, Harry found himself back in the drawing room awaiting the arrival of Ron and Hermione. Draco had wandered off, probably to explore the house or hunt for rats or something, and Harry was enjoying the silence while he tried to center himself. It had been a long two days.

 

The roar of the fire and a surge of green light signaled the arrival of his friends, and merlin was it good to see them after so long. He hugged them both quickly, taking in Ron’s lanky frame and goofy grin, and Hermione’s ever bushy hair and bright eyes.

 

“We’re so glad you’re home,” She gushed.

 

“Glad to be back.” He said, smiling at both of them.

 

They settled themselves in the cushy armchairs around the fire while Harry praised her for the work she had done for him on the house. Her pleased blush betrayed her insistent claims that it was no trouble.

 

“Well, tell me what’s new. How are things? How is the ministry?” He asked, glancing between the both of them.

 

“Ron may be up for a promotion soon.” Hermione smiled sweetly, glancing over at him.

 

“Maybe, I dunno. Probably not.” Ron said, his ears pink. Harry knew that he had become a full Auror a few years ago, but for obvious reasons they had never talked about it at any great length.

 

“Congratulations, I’m sure you’ll get it. I hope so, you deserve it.” Harry offered, perfectly sincere. It was no longer the path he wanted for himself, but he was genuinely happy for his best friend.

 

“Thanks Harry. Hermione has been, what's it called again?” He asked her.

 

“Shacklebolt has me shuttled back and forth between The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Between the reforms and this nonsense with the War Council it’s been quite exhausting.” She confessed, grimacing.  

“War Council?” Harry questioned, frowning.

“That's what the anti-death eater group are calling themselves.” Ron replied.

“Oh. Is it that serious?”

“I’m afraid so. There have been eight separate known attacks to date. And they’re getting worse.” She said softly.

“And no suspects?” He asked Ron.

“Not yet, no. They’ve covered their tracks pretty well. I think they’ve got informants in the Ministry, they seem to know exactly how we operate and how to avoid us.” He grimaced.

 

Harry sighed, troubled. How could he not have known?

 

“You know, if you wanted to join the team, I’m sure you’d be welcome Harry. They’d probably piss themselves in glee, to be honest.” Ron offered, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees as he twisted his hands together. Harry, smiled. It was nice of him, but Harry knew better. Ron had finally gotten out from under his shadow and was apparently flourishing. Harry wasn’t about to ruin that for him, even if he did still want to be an Auror, and he didn’t.

 

“Thanks mate, but I’m okay. It’s not really appealing like it used to be, you know.” Harry reassured him. Ron nodded, and Harry didn’t miss the private relief on his face.

“If you’re sure. So what will- WOAH!” Ron jerked back in his chair, eyes wide in the direction of the door. Harry could feel Draco’s presence coming up behind him and he grinned with amusement at the look on Ron’s face. Well, at least it wasn’t a spider.

 

 _“Ask your friend if he would like a hug.”_ Draco whispered to Harry, sliding slowly up the side of his chair and over his lap, eyes on Ron and Hermione. Harry barked out a laugh.

“He asked if you want a hug Ron.” Harry grinned, resting a hand absently on Draco’s back.

“I bloody well don’t. You tell that thing to stay away from me, Harry. I mean it. It’s creepy.” Ron struggled, wide eyes still on the snake.

 _“He said no thank you.”_ Harry said to Draco, still grinning.

 _“Hmm.”_ Draco responded simply, continuing to stare.

 

“Is he magical?” Hermione asked, glancing in interest from Draco to Harry.

“I dunno. I’ve never seen him do anything magical. He’s weirdly smart though. Likes to insult me.” Harry said, sliding his hand along Draco’s back. He felt a shudder go through him and frowned down at him.

“Bloody ferret if there ever was one.” Ron muttered mulishly.

“Oh grow up Ron. He’s quite beautiful.” She spoke to Harry, and ignoring the gaping look Ron directed at her.

 

“Yeah, I suppose he is.” Harry agreed, watching Draco perk his head up a bit.

 

“So what are you plans?” She asked, looking back to Harry expectantly. He continued to stroke Draco’s spine absently as he thought it over.

“Well… I suppose I’ll go visit Shacklebolt and ask if there is anything I can do. Without officially joining the Aurors. I don’t think I’d work well in groups.” He said, shrugging.

“I think that’s a great idea.” She agreed, glancing at Ron.

“Yeah, me too. He’ll be happy to see you. But, um. You know THE PROPHET is going to go nuts right? I mean, it’s inevitable.”

 

Harry sighed and nodded, dreading the paper and the pictures and the speculation.

“I’ll see if I can set up a meeting with Rita Skeeter and see if we can keep it as bland as possible.” Hermione said with a small smile.

 

“Thanks.”

 

They continued to catch up for a long time. Harry asked them about their flat and was happy to see that they seemed to be doing so well and that their relationship was thriving. They discussed plans to surprise the Weasleys that weekend, before his official return. It was so wonderful to see the both of them. Of course he had kept up regular correspondence and the occasional floo call, but to see them both in person for the first time in years filled a hole in Harry that he hadn’t realized existed.

 

It was gone midnight when they finally floo’d home, and Harry was left sitting in his armchair, soaking in the heat from the fire and running his fingers along Draco’s spine. Draco hadn’t moved or spoken for the duration of the visit, seemingly content to drape his body across Harry’s lap and be petted.

 

The house was quiet as he sat, taking in the events of the last few days. The prospect of visiting the ministry worried him, he had worked so hard to learn to control his magic. One outburst in public could completely ruin him. He lifted his hand, turning it over so that it was palm up, and noticed Draco’s eyes follow the movement.

 

Harry concentrated, allowing the tight hold he kept to loosen for a moment. The _Lumos_ he cast was silent and effortless, light spilled into the room, highlighting his open palm. He pulled the magic back and closed his fist, room darkening once again and sighed. Here in the safety of his home it was easy. In public, surrounded by people with his nerves on edge, it would be more difficult.

 

 _“Ready for bed?”_ He asked Draco. Draco dropped his head in a nod and slid off of Harry’s lap, following him as he rose and left the room.

 

Harry brushed his teeth and dressed for bed, returning to his room to find Draco curled up on the enchanted rug where Harry had placed it by the bed. It didn’t match the red decor at all, but he didn’t really mind. He stepped over the snakes bulk and crawled under the duvet, finding it to be quite comfortable. He removed his glasses and set them on the bedside table and waved a hand, extinguishing the lamps. The room was thrown into darkness and was comfortably silent. Until Draco whispered;

 

_“It’s cold.”_

 

Confused, Harry responded,

 

_“No it isn’t.”_

 

 _“I’m cold.”_ Draco said again, hissing voice quiet in the dark. Harry suddenly caught on and scoffed.

 

 _“Alright, come on.”_ He lifted the blanket and felt Draco’s long, cold body slid in and pressed against him. He shivered, adjusting to the change and settled back down into the mattress.

 _“You’ve become spoiled, do you know that?”_ Harry said, smiling into his pillow. Draco’s response was to burrow deeper into Harry’s side, resting his tail across Harry’s legs.

 

Strangely, Harry didn’t mind his weird bedmate. He had become used to the weight of Draco’s body against him, though he would never admit it. It was strange to think of himself sleeping next to _Draco_ . A part of him regretted naming him after Malfoy, but at the time he had never thought they would end up this way. He had expected to send the snake on his way… it hadn’t crossed his mind that they would end up _here._

 

His thoughts drifted unbidden to Malfoy. It occurred to him that, as an ex-death eater, Malfoy could be in danger, a target of this ‘War Council’. Harry wondered if he was keeping himself safe, if his mother was as well. He felt no love for the Malfoys, but their choices during the war had drastically changed his view of them, Lucius excluded. Draco’s actions that fated night on the astronomy tower, and later at Malfoy Manor proved that he was no villain. He was just swept up in the madness of Voldemort, just like the rest of them had been. And, of course, he owed his life to Narcissa. No, the Malfoys didn’t deserve the stigma. They deserved to be left alone, to live the rest of their life in peace. Like so many others.

 

Harry drifted off to sleep somewhere in the midst of these thoughts, to dreams of green light and blond hair. When he woke later with a scream stuck in his throat, something cool wrapped itself around him gently, comforting in a way that made no sense. He then hazily settled back down and back to sleep, and dreamed no more.

 

* * *

 

Breakfast the next morning was an exciting affair. Harry had an entire kitchen full of shining, updated appliances. And no clue what to do with them. He settled for something simple, frying some eggs with a side of toast and tea. Draco happily swallowed three raw eggs whole, and Harry fussed at him for sitting on the table but of course the whiny git ignored him.

 

 _“You’re not the most attractive creature from that angle, you know. I’d rather look about the place properly.”_ He said snobbily when Harry tried to tell him to get back on the floor for the fourth time. Harry gave up and ate his eggs, resigned to Draco’s expansive body taking up half of the long table.

 

Later that morning Draco disappeared, mumbling something about going out into the back garden to look for something to eat. Harry thought nothing of it, returning to the drawing room and picking out a space on the floor in front of the fire to meditate. The snow outside of the high windows was calming, reminding him of his cozy, safe and isolated cabin. He was able to clear his mind, attempting to prepare himself for the trials ahead.

 

The rest of the week passed in much the same way. Harry bickered comfortingly with Draco when he was around, and thought nothing of the hours he seemed to disappear, as he was just that type of creature. He meditated and tinkered around the house, enjoyed putting his kitchen to use, briefly wondered if Hermione would let him hire a house elf to do all the dishes for him, and gathered the courage to visit Sirius’s room.

 

It was dark and dusty, with bones still littering the floor from the days when Buckbeak inhabited it. Harry paid his respects but wasn’t able to stay long.

 

Midmorning on Sunday Harry pulled his motorcycle to a stop a few yards from the Burrow and was unwrapping his scarf as he heard a shriek and a crash come from inside the house. Molly Weasley ran out of the front door, her flowery apron flapping around her and her hair in disarray. With a teary cry of “Oh, Harry!”, she enveloped him in a warm hug. Harry smiled into her hair. She smelled like home.

 

The rest of the Weasley clan came spilling out of the house as she was releasing him, and Harry found himself surrounded by smiles and flaming red hair. Arthur shook his hand enthusiastically, while Molly fretted over him “So thin, I’ll make you something to eat Harry, dear,”, and George smiled happily at him with a “Good to see you, mate!”.

 

Percy was there as well, with the most resigned greeting, but still friendly nonetheless. Last out of the house were Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Ginny stepped up to him and gave him a tight hug, murmuring into his ear;

 

“Happy you’re home, Harry.” He would have to examine those feelings later.

 

“When did you get back?” Molly asked, dusting some imaginary lint off of his shoulder.

 

“Earlier this week. Took some time to settle in, you know. Ron said you’d all be here today so I figured I’d surprise you. Hope it’s not an inconvenience?” He asked.

 

“Well of course not! Come in, come in. I’ll whip up something, you come and settle down and tell us all about what you’ve been up to.” She commanded, leading the way back to the house.

 

“Best oblige her Harry, she’s missed you something terrible.” Arthur smiled down at him, walking with him to the door.

 

They ended up in the Weasley’s cramped living room, Harry was bombarded with questions and enthusiastic chatter. The smell of food wafted in from the kitchen after a while, and Harry was pleasantly surprised to find himself well in control of his magic.

 

“So where have you been?” George had asked, sitting across in one of the chairs by the fire.

 

“All over, really. I traveled around a lot for a while, ended up in a little cabin out in the middle of nowhere in Romania. It was quiet, it helped. Figured it was time to come back though.” He said. He could feel Ginny’s eyes on him from across the room.

 

“So you destroyed it then?” Arthur asked, and a bit of a hush fell over the room.

 

“Uh, yeah. I did. But,” He paused, running his hand over the back of his neck. “I seemed to absorb it somehow in the process. And now I can’t use other wands. They kind of explode in my hand.”

 

“Then how do you do magic?” Percy asked, frowning. Harry was becoming uncomfortable now. All eyes were on him, even Ron and Hermione, who sat on the couch on either side of him.

 

“Well I just. I just do it.” He said, feeling warm. He held his hand out and mentally _Accio’d_ his tea from the coffee table. It fell gently into his hand and he heard a soft “Merlin!” from Arthur.  

 

“This isn’t something we want to become public knowledge, obviously.” Hermione added, glancing over towards Percy subtly.

 

“I should say not. THE PROPHET would have a bloody field day.” Arthur said, leaning back in his chair and appraising Harry. “Is this why you stayed away for so long?”

 

Harry nodded.

 

“It took me a long time to learn to control it. It’s still difficult sometimes. I have to be very careful.” He said, cupping his fingers around his tea.

 

“But the Elder Wand is definitely gone?” George asked.

 

“Yeah, it’s gone.” Harry answered.

 

“Well that’s good, isn’t it?” This from Ginny.

 

“Yes. Now the chain of inheritance is broken. No one can come after Harry for it’s power.” Hermione interjected. Harry nodded silently.

 

This subject in particular was somewhat painful for him. Ron seemed to sense his unease and came to the rescue.

 

“So Ginny is playing for the Harpies now, can you believe that?” He nudged Harry and the conversation turned to Ginny’s career and after that went on to Percy’s position as assistant to Shacklebolt. In this area, he and Hermione got into a debate about the War Council.

 

“No matter their intentions, it is still wrong of them to take it upon themselves to punish those who have been acquitted by the law.” She said, sounding as though she had said the same thing many times over.

 

“I’m not saying they are correct in their actions, I’m only saying I understand why they’re doing it. Many death eaters and those with death eater connections are still roaming free. Just because the war is over, that doesn’t mean the public is safe.” Percy argued.

 

“But these attacks are only exacerbating the situation. You can’t fight fear of violence with violence.” She huffed.

 

“Hermione is right. They really need to be stopped. The Ministry needs to put more effort in finding out who is responsible.” Arthur offered.

 

“Problem is though, they’ve got someone inside the Ministry. Personally, I think it’s someone inside The Department for Magical Law Enforcement. The last attack was on the Carrow house. Little Alex lives there with his grandma, but he’s away at Hogwarts so she was there alone. They blew up half the house! It’s in a muggle neighborhood, it was a bloody nightmare. But somehow our curse detectors weren’t set off at all, so we had no idea until Mrs. Carrow sent us her patronus. Our curse detectors are overseen by the Department for Magical Law Enforcement.” Ron finished.

 

“Has it been investigated?” George asked.

 

“Of course it has. But nothing has turned up yet.” Percy said, sniffing.

 

“Well I wonder how they’ll react when they’ve realized ol’ Harry is back in town.” George said, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry exaggeratedly.

 

“Not that it’s his _job_ to fix the situation,” Hermione said pointedly, “But Harry has plans to visit the Minister tomorrow to discuss the issue.”

 

“Are you sure, Harry? Hermione is right, you know. You’ve done enough. The Ministry will sort this out.” Arthur said, frowning before he took a sip of his tea.

 

“Well I’m not going for only that. It’s been five years, you know? People are going to realize I’m back in London sooner or later. I’d rather it be on my own terms.” Harry shrugged. Arthur smiled a bit sadly, and nodded.

 

It was at this point that Molly shouted at them from the kitchen and everyone began to pile around the cramped table, bumping elbows and sharing laughs as they overfilled themselves on Molly’s excellent cooking. By the end of the night, Harry’s trousers were feeling a bit tight around the waist and his heart lighter than it had been in years.

 

* * *

 

Harry’s day was off to a bad start. Draco had been absent again that morning, not that Harry had any expectations of the snake, he was allowed to come and go as he pleased. But he had been hoping to benefit from his strange aloof confidence before he set out for the Ministry. Instead, he picked at his breakfast in solitude, gulped down his scalding tea when he realized he was late, and arrived at the Ministry with his hair tousled from the floo and soot all over his robes.

 

There he stood, in the middle of the crowded atrium on a Monday morning, and the first vestige of panic began to set in. He swallowed dryly and ran a hand over his hair, trying to flatten his bangs over his forehead. He shuffled along with the crowd and it suddenly dawned on him that, as a visitor, he would have to submit his wand at check in.

 

Harry momentarily floundered. He inhaled deeply, pulling tightly to his magic, keeping it under control. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the wand clerk, who wasn’t bothering to look at him, with his hand held out expectantly.

 

“Wand,” He ordered in a bored tone.

 

“Er, I haven’t got one.” Harry stated helplessly. The clerk looked up.

 

“You haven’t got one.” He copied, frowning at Harry. Then his eyes widened.

 

“Blimey, you’re H-”

 

“Yes, that will be all, thank you Eric.” Harry turned sharply and his shoulders drooped in relief. _Thank you_ , he mouthed at Ron. Ron grinned and nodded, then jerked his head in indication for Harry to follow.

 

They entered a lift and Harry moved to the back, attempting to shuffle into the corner and out of sight, hidden by Ron’s taller frame. The lift made three stops, allowing witches and wizards in and out, before stopping on Ron’s floor.

 

"Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services." Said the cool voice, as Harry and Ron stepped out. It was kind of a mad house.

 

Interdepartmental memos zoomed back and forth, and people shouted at each other from over the tops of their cubicles. Ron led them confidently down an aisle and Harry looked around, noting the posters on the walls. One in particular caught his attention.

 

**ANY INFORMATION ON THE WAR COUNCIL SHOULD BE SENT**

**TO THE WAR COUNCIL INVESTIGATIVE TEAM**

**TEAM MEMBERS ARE AS FOLLOWS**

 

There were three rows of names with pictures besides each one, of all the Aurors who had been assigned to the team. Ron’s name was halfway down the list, next to a picture of him with his chest puffed up, looking stern and very professional. The tiny photo winked at Harry as they passed. Harry grinned.

 

They reached Ron’s cubicle and he gestured for Harry to sit. He did gladly, as he was then low enough to where people couldn’t see him over the tops of the cubicles unless they poked their head over. Ron leaned down over his desk and grabbed a piece of parchment off of a messy little stack and a quill.

“Just going to send Mione a quick note, let her know you’re here. Then we’ll go see the Minister.” He said, scrawling sloppily over the paper. Once he finished he tapped the paper with his wand and it folded itself and flew away.

 

“Ready?” Ron asked Harry.

 

“As I’ll ever be.” He replied, standing and pulling his robes straight nervously. They set off down the corridor once again and Harry kept his head forward, concentrating on keeping his magic under control. They made it most of the way towards the Minister's office before the whispering started.

 

“Hey, isn’t that-”

 

“Blimey, look!”

 

“It’s Harry Potter!”

 

“Harry Potter is back!”

 

Harry glanced around nervously, people were starting to stare, eyes flickering up towards his scar. He resisted to urge to press his hair down over his forehead again. Wouldn't do him any good now.

 

They reached the Minister’s office, Harry saw the gold plaque on the door that read;

 

**Kingsley Shacklebolt**

**Minister for Magic**

 

Ron knocked briskly on the door, pointedly ignoring the muttering going on behind them. There was only a two second delay before a deep voice came from within.

 

“Come in.”

 

Harry and Ron entered the room and Ron shut it firmly behind them, shutting off the buzz of conversation that had been slowly rising in volume. Harry cringed, thinking of how fast the news must be spreading.

 

“Harry, so good to see you again.” Kingsley walked around his desk and held out his hand. His face was kind, older than Harry remembered.

 

“You too Kingsley. I’m sorry to come so suddenly.” Harry shook his hand firmly.

 

“Weasley informed me we’d be meeting you earlier this morning, it’s no imposition.” He insisted. Harry was genuinely pleased to see him. He had always been one of the members of the Order of the Phoenix that he was fond of. And from what Harry had heard, he was an excellent Minister.

 

“Please, have a seat. Tea?” He held his hand out to the chairs that sat in front of his desk as he walked around, sitting in his own.

 

“Sure.” Harry said. Ron nodded and they both sat as Kingsley waved his wand at the tea tray that was pushed against the wall. A full tea service rolled itself over to them, the pot lifted itself into the air and poured three cups. Harry took one gratefully.

 

“So, what can I do for you?” The Minister asked, after they had all settled.

 

“Harry only just got back to London last week. He doesn’t want to officially join the Aurors, but he wanted to offer his help, see if there was anything he could do about this War Council.” Ron answered for him. Harry nodded.

 

“Ah, I see. Well Harry, I feel I should tell you that I believe the Auror department has it pretty well under control. It’s only an upstart group of activists, it’ll all die down and the ones responsible will slip up and get caught eventually.” Kingsley said, unconcerned.

 

“You really think so?” Harry asked, frowning.

 

“Of course. We’ve dealt with situations like this before. It’s nothing to be overly worried about.”

 

“With all due respect Minister, we haven’t got a clue who’s behind these attacks, and it’s obvious that they’ve got information and sources that we can’t touch. Harry could be really useful.” Ron interjected, his tea forgotten.

 

“I understand Weasley. But that is what the Auror department is for. Harry is not an Auror, so I can not officially ask or give him permission to involve himself in this investigation. Now, if you would like to join the team I can certainly arrange that, due to your contributes to the wizarding world. But beyond that, I’m afraid there isn’t anything I can do.” Kingsley said, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. Harry looked over to Ron to see him staring incredulously at him, a flush creeping up the back of his neck.

 

“Well thank you for taking the time to talk to us Minister. I appreciate it.” Harry said quickly, setting his tea down on the desk and moving to stand. Ron closed his mouth and copied, his jaw clenching briefly.

 

“Let me know if there is anything else I can do for you Harry, really. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that we all appreciate what you’ve done.” Kingsley said, rising as well and holding his hand out again. Harry shook it once and let go, nodding before he nudged Ron out the door.

 

“What the bloody hell was that about-” Ron began quietly, but was cut off by the bright flashes and resounding clicks of multiple cameras. “Bollocks.” Harry heard him mutter, his tone resigned.

 

“Mr. Potter, when did you return to London?”

 

“Mr Potter, are you here to stay? Where have you been all this time?”

 

“Mr Potter, is it true that you have been in St Mungo’s these last five years for PTSD?”

 

“Mr Potter, what are you thoughts on the attacks by the War Council?”

 

“Mr Potter, do you support their claims that all those with death eater ties should be thrown in Azkaban?”

 

And then one witch in the back shouted;

 

“Mr Potter, are you currently seeing anyone?”

 

Harry felt the weight of eyes pressing in on him, and his strenuous control slipping. He clenched his fists, trying to keep hold of his magic as it struggled to shove away the perceived threat.

 

“Now, now, back up and let him breathe, thank you.” Came Kingsley’s baritone. He had come out of his office to stand behind them, more flashes from the cameras.

 

“Minister, have you just been meeting with Mr Potter?”

 

“What was your meeting about?”

 

“Have you made plans to collaborate against the War Council?”

 

And then the witch in the back, again;

 

“Mr Potter, could you commit to an interview for Witch Weekly?”

 

“Mr Potter has earned his Order of Merlin, first class, and has done his duty to the Wizarding community. He is a hero and has been enjoying some time away. Bringing in those responsible for these attacks is the duty of the Auror department, of which Harry is not a part of. He was merely coming in for a quick hello upon his return to London.” Kingsley answered smoothly, before Harry was able.

 

“Mr Potter, will you take on the War Council youself?”

 

“Mr Potter, would you like to convey a message to those responsible?”

 

Here is where Harry finally cut in.

 

“Yes, I would.” He said quickly, and everyone went silent. “Uh, okay. Um. Well,” He glanced at Ron, who nodded encouragingly. “Kingsley is right, I’ve just been taking some time off.” There was the furious scratching of many quills. “I’ve just moved back to London, and I have no plans yet. I am not joining the Aurors in their hunt for the War Council.”

 

And explosion of questions sounded again but Harry cut them off;

 

“However, I would like to say that the war is over. These attacks are wrong and they need to stop. Those who were judged guilty are in Azkaban and those who were not are just trying to get on with their lives, just like the rest of us. Um. That's all, thank you.”

 

The reporters began shouting all at once but Ron began yelling and shoving through the crowd, the cameras flashed at them as Harry pushed through behind him, trying to ignore the noise. They reached the lift and nearly ran inside, in a rush to get the gates closed between them and the cameras and shouting. Flashes continued to go off until they were out of sight.

 

Harry felt relief wash over him, his first appearance in public and he hadn’t exploded on anyone. He considered that a win.

 

“Well. Could have been worse, right?” Ron suggested, hands in his pockets as he breathed in relief.

 

“Yeah. Could have gone worse. Kingsley was a bit weird though, wasn’t he?” Harry asked, trying to catch his breath.

 

“He was, actually. I wonder-” But the lift gates opened at that minute, and the cool voice informed them that they were in the atrium once again. Hermione was standing just outside the lift, hair in disarray and briefcase in one hand.

 

“Harry, Ron, I was just on my way up. I’m sorry I couldn’t get away any sooner-” She began as they stepped out.

 

“Don't’ worry about it, but we need to talk to you.” Harry said lowly.

 

“Of course. Now or would you like to…”

 

But Harry didn’t hear whatever it was she was asking him to do, as he had just spotted a shock of blond hair through the crowds. Completely preoccupied, he stared ahead and stepped past them, deaf to Hermione’s questioning; “Harry?”

 

Draco Malfoy was standing in the middle of the atrium, watching him.

 

Harry stared, confused. Malfoy was dressed impeccably, as always. He was wearing black, high collared robes, all done up in silver buttons and fastenings. His long sleeves were tight around the arms, with yet more buttons, and his hands were clasped in front of him. There was a deep green scarf draped loosely around his shoulders, and his hair was long, brushing his shoulders and parted off to the side, hanging around one side of his face instead of slicked severely back like his late father. His face was just as pale and pointy as ever, and his bright grey eyes were locked onto him intensely.

 

“Git.” He heard Ron mutter behind him, and he was suddenly reminded of where he was.  

 

“What’s he doing here?” He asked Ron and Hermione.

 

“I’m not sure. He doesn’t usually visit the Ministry unless he has to. Mostly he works from home these days.”

 

“Works? What does he do?” Harry asked, insanely curious. Malfoy _worked_?

 

“He runs a charity for people affected by the war. It’s actually quite nice. He’s built an orphanage that he funds, many shelters, homes for people who lost theirs, he holds dinners regularly at the manor, all proceeds go to-” But she was interrupted by Ron.

 

“He’s still a git.”

 

“Do you. You know. Talk to him?” He whispered to Hermione conspiritally.

 

“Honestly Harry, he’s not a bad guy. Yes, I’ve worked with him a few times. He’s always been perfectly civil.” She sniffed, frowning at Ron.

 

Harry looked back to Malfoy, who was still standing there. Staring.

 

“What does he want?” Harry asked, a little creeped out.

 

“I don’t know. Why don’t you go ask him?” Hermione offered, with a _tone_.

 

“You think?”

 

“Might as well mate. He’s causing a scene.” Ron grumbled, and he was right. People were starting to notice and stare between them. Their history was no secret.

 

“Okay.” Harry said, gathering himself and taking a steadying breath.

 

He walked forward, while the two of them trailed behind a few yards. Harry noticed Malfoy's hands knotted together, his knuckles white. His head was held high, but his expression was open, eyes a little wide. His telltale sneer was nowhere to be seen. Harry was incredibly unnerved.

 

“Malfoy.” He said, upon reaching him. They stood three feet away now, and yes, people were definitely staring.

 

“Potter. Welcome back.” Malfoy responded.

 

“Er, thanks.” He said, completely befuddled.

 

“I was wondering if I could have a word.” Malfoy said, his words coming quickly now, blurring together a bit.

 

“Um sure? What do you want?”

 

“Not here, Potter.” Malfoy said, scowling. Which, strangely enough, made Harry feel better.

 

“Well where then, exactly?” Harry bit out, a bit of his temper starting to show. What was it about Malfoy that always riled him up? But Malfoy didn’t rise to the bait. Harry watched as he inhaled slowly before responding.

 

“Perhaps we could set an appointment? I can owl you.” He offered, perfectly calm and courteous. Which weirded Harry out.

 

“Sure.” Harry replied, he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

 

“Well, good day then.” Malfoy said, and practically fled. Harry watched as though he had been confounded as Malfoy retreated to the floo and was gone.

 

“What the bloody hell was that about?” Ron asked incredulously as they came up behind him.

“I have no idea.” Harry answered.

 

* * *

 

 

“So Kingsley basically brushed you off?” Hermione asked, smiling in thanks as Harry handed her a cup of tea. They had just arrived back at Grimmauld Place and were once again relaxed in the chairs around the fire in the drawing room.

 

“Yeah pretty much. It was really weird.” Harry said as he flopped down into his own chair.

 

“Kind of cagey if you ask me, him not wanting your help. Maybe he’s the inside source the War Council has in the Ministry.” Ron said in horror.

 

“Oh shut up Ron. Of course it’s not Kingsley. But I do agree that it’s odd.” She said, frowning in thought.

 

“Well, whatever his reasons, he made it clear that they don’t need or want my help.” Harry said.

 

“So what will you do?” She asked.

 

“He’s going to ignore him and help anyway of course.” Ron said, as though it were obvious. He and Harry exchanged a grin.

 

“Well yes but I don’t think it would be wise if you got caught though, would it? Not that I think he would actively try to punish you, but I still don’t want to find out, if he was as adamant as you say.” She said slowly.  

 

“You’re right. We’ll be careful though. Promise.” Harry said, holding his hand to his heart in sincerity. Hermione rolled her eyes.

 

He and Ron grinned again. It was kind of nice, it felt like old times. Plotting on how to save the world, all over again.

 

“So what are you plans for Christmas Harry?” Hermione asked.

 

“Uh, when is it?”

 

“This thursday, you twat.” Ron laughed.

 

“Oh. I dunno.”

 

“Well you’re coming to the Burrow aren’t you?” He demanded.

 

“I believe I’m going to the Burrow.” Harry informed Hermione, matter of factly.

 

Harry twitched as he felt Draco’s presence behind him, shaking his head in amusement as Ron’s face.

 

“He really is creepy Harry. Like you know who’s snake.” Ron said.

 

“Ronald Weasley! Do not compare Harry’s friend to that monster.” Hermione reprimanded.

 

“Well he is!” He gestured at Draco as he slid up Harry’s leg and piled half of his body on his lap. Harry looked down at him, concerned. He could feel the snakes heart beat, it was rather faster than usual.

 

 _“Are you alright?”_ He asked.

 

_“Of course. I was eating.”_

 

_“You eat too much. You’re going to get fat.”_

 

 _“Shut up or I’ll eat you too.”_ Harry laughed, running his hand along Draco’s back.

 

“See? Creepy.” Ron muttered darkly.

 

“So what will you do about Malfoy?” Hermione asked, ignoring her boyfriend.

 

“I dunno. I suppose I’ll just wait and see what he wants, won’t I?”

 

“You will be nice to him won’t you? He’s worked very hard on his reputation since the end of the war.” Hermione scolded.

 

“Yes, Mione, of course I’ll be nice to him.” Harry sighed.

 

“Good. I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon. He’s pleasantly punctual.” She said.

 

“Pleasantly punctual? How often are you seeing him anyway?” Ron demanded.

 

“Often enough to know that he is sincere and that he has changed.” She answered him, unconcerned.  

 

“I’ll play nice, mom.” Harry teased, and she threw her pillow at him.

 

It was two days later that Harry received an owl. He had woken up the morning of Christmas Eve feeling well rested and indulged in a nice hot shower before he went down for breakfast. Draco was waiting for him in the kitchen, rudley laying across the table again.

 

 _“You’ve had an owl.”_ He informed Harry, and sure enough there was a letter sitting on the table.

 

 _“Did you scare this one off too?”_ He asked, amused as he glanced down to see that it was from Malfoy. He ripped open the envelope and pulled the parchment out to read it.  

 

_Potter,_

 

_I’m sure Granger has informed you of the organization I have devised in the wake of the war, in order to provide assistance to those whose lives were impacted by he who must not be named. I was wondering if I could gain your assistance in some affairs concerning these efforts. If you have the time, I would like to have you over for tea this coming saturday to discuss these matters. Please send your response via return owl. I look forward to hearing from you._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Draco Malfoy_

 

“He has really neat handwriting.” Harry said to absolutely no one. Draco watched him silently. _“So, a guy I knew in school, well he was kind of a prat, but anyway, he wants to meet with me about a charity organization or something that the runs.”_ Harry told him. He wasn’t sure why. Draco, the snake, certainly wouldn’t care whether or not Harry met with Draco, the wizard.

 _“Then go meet with him.”_ Draco responded in a bored tone.

 _“Hmm. I need an owl.”_ He said, slightly accusing. Draco said nothing.

 

Harry set the letter on the table and set about making breakfast. He found himself sneaking glances to the neat script, picking it back up and reading it again, before returning it to it’s spot on the table.

 

His relationship with Malfoy had always been strained, to put it lightly, but it seemed that Hermione was right and that Malfoy really had turned over a new leaf. Harry knew that, of course, as he had professed such at his hearing after the war ended. His speech on that day was probably the only reason that Malfoy and his mother did not join Lucius in Azkaban.

 

If he really was sincere as his letter said, Harry found himself perfectly willing to apply his efforts to this charity, in whatever capacity he could. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do with his time.

 

He amused himself by tossing eggs in the air and watching Draco strike out, quicker than Harry could track with his eyes, and catch them in his mouth before swallowing them whole. Once he finished his breakfast, again he wondered on Hermione's most recent stance on house elves, before heading upstairs to dress.

 

When he pulled up and parked his bike at the Burrow, he had to yank his frozen fingers from the handlebars. It was blessedly warm in the house, especially in the kitchen, where Molly was bustling around, creating their Christmas Eve feast. He found Ron and Hermione upstairs in Ron’s room, thankfully across the room from each other and not doing anything weird, like snogging. Or worse.

 

They sat on the floor around one of Hermione's nifty little blue flames, and Harry handed over Malfoy's letter for them to see.

“Carrying it around in your pocket, are you? Keeping it next to your heart?” Ron teased, grinning.

“Bugger off Ron.” He said kicking at him. “What do you think?” He directed at Hermione. She scanned the letter quickly and handed it back to him.

“I think it’s a great idea. Not only will it help him greatly, with both his workload and his image, it’ll give you something to do. And it really is for a great cause. I’ve seen some of those children he works with Harry, they’re in bad shape.” She professed.

“Alright.” He said, shoving the letter back into the pocket of his coat. _Not_ next to his heart.

 

They chatted amiably for a while longer before they were called down to dinner, where Harry once again stuffed himself to bursting. Mollys treacle tart especially was a treat, and though he was already miserable, he had three helpings.

 

After dinner Ginny cornered him and asked for a word in private, and he hesitantly agreed. He had been expecting it, after all.

 

They walked outside into the snow, enjoying the soft moonlight that spilled onto the frozen garden at the rear of the house.

“How are you Harry, really?” She asked as they strolled along the garden wall, her hair dark and shiny as she pushed some strands behind her ear. Five years had turned her from the teenager he remembered into an absolutely beautiful young woman.

“I’m okay Gin. I’m better than I was. You?”

“I’m great, really. Busy with the Harpies, but great. I’m… well I’m seeing someone.” She said softly, looking up at him. He looked at her, surprised, but it wasn’t completely unexpected.

“That’s wonderful,” He said, a little wistful. “Anyone I know?”

“No, his name is Jean, he went to Beauxbatons.” She confessed. “He’s a broom maker in France. I met him through work.”

“Well I’m happy for you Gin, really.” He said honestly, bumping her shoulder gently with his own.

“Thank you Harry. I just wasn’t… You’ve been gone five years, you know? I waited a while but then-”

“No, Ginny, please stop. You don’t have to apologize or feel guilty or anything. I mean, if anyone should apologize it should be me, for just up and leaving like that.” They had stopped now, to face each other and talk to each other properly.

“You only did what you needed to do, for you. I don’t blame you for that.” She said, her wide brown eyes, fixed on him earnestly. She really was beautiful.

“Yeah well. I’m glad you took the time to tell me.”

“Of course. And you know I’m always here for you. I’ll… I’ll always love you Harry.” She placed her hand on his cheek, her eyes shiney.

“I’ll always love you too, Gin.”

 

She kissed him softly on the cheek, then left him in the garden alone. He stayed a while, trying to wrestle the confusing mix of emotions inside him, before heading back inside. He spent the rest of the night feeling somewhat hollow, faking his smiles and dodging Hermione’s knowing glances, and was relieved when it was time to leave the Burrow and head home.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry spent the rest of the Holidays at Grimmauld Place, including Christmas Day. He couldn’t quite face another day at the Weasleys yet, and when floo called Ron and Hermione to make his excuses, he was pleased to see that they understood, even if they were a bit disappointed.

 

He still received the yearly Christmas Jumper, and other various small packages, included some sweets from Honeydukes, an interesting arrangement from the Weasley Wizard Wheezes, a chudley cannons poster, which he would _not_ be hanging on his wall, and a knitted hat to match his scarf.

 

He was also surprised to receive a small parcel from Mcgonagall, along with a short letter stating that she had seen in THE PROPHET that he was back in London and expected a visit sometime soon. Harry opened the package after reading her letter and was delighted by a maroon muggle t-shirt with the words GRYFFINDOR QUIDDITCH in gold wrapped around a roaring lion. He had pulled it over his head immediately, and Draco promptly told him he looked like _“utter loon”_ and to go and _“remove the dead animal on top of your head.”_  

 

Ron and Hermione did stop in later that evening after leaving the Burrow, with enough Christmas dinner leftovers to feed a small army. Ron wasted no time in professing his jealousy over Harry’s t-shirt while Hermione made them tea.

 

“Mcgonagall didn’t send me a cool quidditch shirt!” He complained.

 

“Well I won all the matches, not you.” Harry replied, grinning. Ron shoved him and he nearly toppled over the chair he was leaning against.

 

He enjoyed a few hours with his friends before they headed home to spend the rest of their Christmas together, which was something Harry didn’t want to think about at all. It did, however, get him to thinking again about Ginny.

 

Harry wasn’t sure what he had expected. He hadn’t thought they would pick it up right where they left off of course, but for her to be seeing someone? It should have been obvious, now that he was looking at it after the fact. Ginny was stunning, she was wicked smart and talented, she came from a great family, she played professional quidditch. Any wizard would be lucky to have her. It just stung that… it wouldn’t be Harry.

 

Having someone to spend his life with was a notion that he had put firmly out of his head after the war, when he decided to go away. He could barely take care of himself at the time, how was he supposed to take care of anyone else?

 

But now he was home, he was mostly stable, he had a house that was pretty nice, he had plenty of gold, he wasn’t exactly ugly, right? He had everything to offer a nice witch. And the witch he wanted was firmly unavailable.

 

Was he going to spend his life alone? Like Sirius did?

 

It was a depressing thought. He couldn’t get it out of his head, not even when he crawled into bed that night, suffering slightly under the weight of Draco.

 

 _“Got any lady friends Draco?”_ He asked without a thought, yawning.

 

_“Why would I have lady friends?”_

 

 _“I dunno. I just figured, I mean, you’re a handsome snake. Surely you’ve met some pretty girl snakes right?”_ Harry fumbled, suddenly wondering if this was a good idea.

 

 _“Females hold no interest for me.”_ Draco answered simply.

 

 _“So… males then?”_ He asked, confused.

 

_“I prefer the company of males, yes.”_

 

 _“So are you… like… you know.”_ Feeling himself blush furiously. Was he really asking his snake if he was gay?

 

_“Am I what?”_

 

 _“Nevermind, forget it.”_ Harry mumbled, punching his pillow to soften it up a bit. He thought he could feel amusement radiating from the snake, but refused to say anything else about it. It was just. Just weird.

 

* * *

 

 

Saturday morning Harry sat alone at the table in his kitchen, drinking his morning tea and reading the PROPHET with tired resignation. His own face stared back at him, again, blinking awkwardly besides Ron at the Ministry. Hermione had been true to her word, as nothing overly vicious had been written about him so far, but every day Harry read wild speculations from everything from his long absence to his supposed intentions on taking on the War Council single handedly. Not to mention the bit a few pages in about his relationship status.

 

At least they weren’t questioning his sanity or painting out to be an attention seeking liar, things of that sort. They could speculate all they wanted, as far as Harry was concerned.

 

He dropped the paper on the table and finished his tea, wishing Draco had not been absent this morning when he woke so that he had someone to poke at before heading out to Malfoy Manor. He was more nervous than he wanted to admit, sparring with the snarky serpent would have been a welcome distraction.

 

As it was, he drained the last dregs of his tea and went upstairs to dress, choosing the new robes Hermione had sent. He wasn’t going to give Malfoy any ammunition against him, not if he could help it. He straightened and pressed, checked himself over in the mirror, attempted to flatten his hair though he new it was a lost cause, grabbed his scarf and hat and was out the back door into the garden where he parked his bike.

 

Malfoy had sent his address and the time of their appointment the day before. Harry checked the parchment once before applying some charms to himself in order to keep himself neat during the flight, fired up his bike and was in the air before he could think too much about it.

 

He had to admit, Malfoy Manor was quite impressive from above. The massive house and gardens were covered in snow, giving it a magical look that reminded Harry of bit of Hogwarts at Christmas. He had expected to run into wards that would prevent him from flying onto the grounds, but was surprised when he felt no resistance and flew right up the drive, touching down gently and coming to a slow stop in front of main entrance.

 

It was eerily quiet once he shut off his bike. He was saved from the decision of going in or waiting outside when the door opened. Malfoy stepped out in an immaculate grey three piece suit that probably cost more than all of Harry’s clothes put together. His jacket was missing, and the slight creases in silvery shirt gave Harry the impression that he had been up for a while, possibly working. He waited in the doorway as Harry walked up the steps.

 

“Potter, good morning.” He offered politely as Harry reached the door. He held it open in invitation and Harry walked in, taking a nosey look around.

 

“Good morning.” He responded, somewhat hesitant. This was so strange.

 

“This way, please.” Malfoy gestured, leading him up some stairs and into a large drawing room, that unnerved Harry with its similarities to his own.

 

“Has Hermione been in this room?” Harry blurted, looking around.

 

“Once or twice, yes.” Malfoy answered, one side of his lip quirking up in a smile that so was brief Harry wondered if it had been there at all.

 

“Hmm.”

 

Malfoy offered him a chair near the fire, it was cold in the room and he took the seat gratefully, the heat from the flames warming him and slowly removing the chill he carried from his flight. A tiny house elf appeared next to him with a tea tray as Malfoy sat in the chair opposite.

 

“Tea, Mr Potter sir?” She squeaked.

 

“Yes, thank you.” Harry said, smiling at her, her large bulbous eyes reminded him fondly of Dobby. She sat the tray on the table between them and poured two cups with practiced ease.

 

“Some of the chocolate Hobnobs too, please Tip.” Malfoy murmured.

 

“Of course Master Draco.” She bowed, before disappearing.

 

Harry glanced at Malfoy before sipping his tea nervously, finding it much more pleasant than his own.

 

“Potter, I would like to start by offering my apologies…” Malfoy began, knuckles white around his cup.

 

“I think all that is said and done, don’t you? It’s been a long time since the war, and I’ve put it all behind me.” Harry said, holding eye contact with some difficulty.

 

“Yes, well. It still needed to be said.” Malfoy responded softly. They were quiet for a few awkward moments before being rescued by the arrival of Tip with the Hobnobs.

 

“Will you be needing anything else Master Draco?”

 

“No, that will be all for now, thank you.”

 

“So Hermione tells me you run a charity?” Harry asked after she disappeared, trying to steer the conversation in less uncomfortable direction.

 

“I do. We do a lot of work with various organizations whose businesses have suffered. We have donated to St Mungo’s, Gringotts, and many other places here in London. We hold fundraisers here at the manor, some dinners and some auctions. Most of our work, though, has been helping children whose parents were killed or whose parents were death eaters.” Malfoy finished, long pale fingers fluttering through the hair on the side of his face, pushing it away.   

 

“We?” Harry inquired.

 

“Ah, mother and I. And Blaise, he helps where he can.”

 

“Zabini?”

 

“The same, yes.”

 

Harry nodded, impressed, studying Malfoys wary face.

 

“And what is it you want from me, exactly?” He asked.

 

“Your public support,” Malfoy answered, setting his cup down and leaning forward. “Come to the dinners, come to the events, let us advertise using your name. The wizarding public would be much more likely to donate to our cause if Harry Potter publicly backed us.” Malfoy finished earnestly. His brow was drawn together, hands clasped in front of him, the picture of sincerity. Harry hesitated.

 

“Er… would I have to actually do anything? Besides show up?” He asked.

 

“You wouldn’t do anything that you don’t want to do.” Malfoy reassured him.

 

Harry leaned back, thinking it over. Malfoy seemed genuine, and Harry had been prepared to accept his new self, but it was still a lot to take in. Really, it was _Malfoy_ after all. No matter how different he looked and acted. Underneath his longer hair and fancy clothes and filled out physique, Harry couldn’t help but see the pointy git who fought with him for all those years.

 

He was still searching for words when the door opened. Harry’s gaze was drawn and he saw Malfoy stand suddenly in his peripheral vision. Four children came running excitedly into the study, clamoring up to Malfoy, grabbing his hands and his clothes.  

 

“Draco, we’ve come to play in the snow!

 

“Draco, will you have a snowball fight with us?

 

“Draco, who’s that?”

 

There were three young boys and a tiny little girl, ranging somewhere between ten and three, dressed in coats and boots with scarves and hats. Harry stood in alarm, and looked past the children crowding Malfoy when Narcissa walked into the room.

 

She was so much different than the last time Harry had seen her. No longer was she thin and stressed and frail. Her face was fuller, brighter, her thick blonde hair held subtle lines of silvery grey, she was dressed in expensive winter clothes, dainty hands covered by white gloves. Harry blinked stupidly as she smiled at him.

 

“Mother, I told you I had an appointment.” Malfoy bit out, his voice low.

 

“I know. But I couldn’t control them Draco, really.” She said, her smile sweet and mischievous. Harry bit down a laugh. Malfoy sighed, exasperated as he looked down at the children.

 

“Draco, please?”

 

“I want to make a snowman!”

 

“Draco, hold me!” The last was uttered by the tiny little girl as she reached her sweet grabby hands up towards him. Harry’s heart ached without his consent.

 

Draco sighed and leaned down and picked the girl up, the movement sure and fluid as if he did it every day.

 

“Mina, I’m working right now sweetheart.” Draco said gently to her as her hands fisted into his vest. Her brown curls bounced when she glanced over at Harry.

 

“Who is that?” She asked again, pointing at Harry with all the authority of a child with no social niceties.

 

“That is Harry Potter, and we’re having a grown up conversation right now. Or we were, anyway.” He said this last bit loudly enough for Narcissa to hear.

 

“Harry Potter can come play too,” She offered, looking back at Malfoy, who widened his eyes and opened his mouth awkwardly.

 

“Yeah, Harry Potter can come!”

 

“Harry Potter, can you make a snowman?”

 

“Do you want to have a snowball fight Harry Potter?”

 

They turned to him excitedly and Harry was taken aback by their enthusiasm. He looked back up to Malfoy who was gaping at him, obviously uncomfortable.

 

“Um. I have time.” He offered to Malfoy. But Malfoy didn’t get a chance to answer.

 

“Yes! Come on!” The oldest boy suddenly grabbed his hand and started pulling him to the door.

 

“Do you have a scarf and a hat?” Another said, bouncing along side him. Harry didn’t miss the look Malfoy exchanged with his mother, his eyes narrowed at her. She shrugged at him in response, still smiling.

 

“You guys have fun, I’m going to the kitchen to discuss lunch with the house elves. Maybe some hot cocoa too.” She told the boys, before waving and leaving the room.

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over her.” Malfoy apologized profusely as he and Harry were dragged from the room amidst the excitement from the three boys.

 

“I’m pretty sure I do.” Harry offered, grinning at Malfoy, infected by the children’s excitement. Malfoy just looked at him with wide eyes.

 

They were forced down the stairs and out into the bright cold, little Mina struggled in Malfoy's arms for a moment before he relented and put her down in the snow. It didn’t take long for Harry to get pelted in the face with freezing ice, leaving him gasping and scrubbing it out of his collar.

 

“Oh you’ll pay for that one!” He yelled, much to the delight of the middle boy. He left Malfoy and ran after, scooping up snow in his fingers and throwing it after the child, but missed. They continued in a similar fashion for a while, and Harry was amazed at how much fun he was having. The oldest boy, David, had unfairly accurate aim. Harry ended up teaming up with the youngest two boys, Micah and Liam, against David and Malfoy while little Mina ran after them all throwing flurries of snow in the air.

 

Elated, Harry particularly enjoyed pelting Malfoy with snow. He enjoyed the way it got stuck in his long blond hair and the way he gasped and spluttered at the cold. His pale face was flushed with exertion as Harry chased him and David, Micah and Liam yelling in encouragement behind him.

 

And all the while, Harry was exhilarated. He hadn’t felt such joy in _years_. The children’s laughter was infectious, spreading to him and Malfoy with ease, until they were all yelling and running after each other, warring light heartedly in the snow. And Malfoy, he laughed, he skipped and jumped, he dodged agilely, he giggled gleefully as he threw a squealing Mina into the air and caught her when she came down. He yelled at Harry and told him he threw like a girl, smiling playfully at him. It was as though Harry had never seen him before.

 

Harry had just been tackled bodily into a soft mound of snow by Micah when Narcissa called for them from the doorway of the manor.

 

“Hot cocoa!” She yelled, and the children began to scramble towards her. Malfoy came up next to him quietly as Harry was dusting snow out of his hair, his collar and sleeves soaked and freezing.

 

“Thank you.” He heard Malfoy say softly, and looked over at him.

 

“I’ll help. Whatever you need.” He answered. Malfoy smiled and nodded, looking back towards the house.

 

Half an hour later he had said goodbye to the children, apologized when they begged him to stay, and was walked to the door by Malfoy who was quiet. They stood staring at each other the in the doorway awkwardly and Harry was trying to think of what to say when Malfoy inhaled sharply and held out his hand. Harry looked from the pale hand to Malfoy's face, the gesture not lost on him.

 

He could only imagine what it had cost Malfoy to put forth his hand.

 

Harry shook it, with only a moment's hesitation. He held Malfoy’s hand firmly and smiled, allowing Malfoy to see that yes, he knew what this was and yes, he accepted. Malfoy’s hand was cold and Harry didn’t miss the slight tremor of his fingers when they pulled away.

 

“I’ll owl you the date of the next event.” He told Harry, folding his hands together in front of him.

 

“I look forward to it.” Harry smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

For some reason Harry was reluctant to tell Ron and Hermione about the snowball fight, so he didn’t. He gave them the gist of what Malfoy had asked of Harry, and told them that he had accepted. Hermione thought it was a great idea, while Ron made it plain that no amount of charity nonsense was worth having to work so closely with Malfoy.

 

Feeling the need to talk to _someone_ about the true events of that day, Harry confided in Draco. He explained to Draco about the charity and then the fight in the snow, and Malfoy’s strange change in personality. He explained how, given their history, it confused him.

 

 _“Humans change as they grow older, do they not?”_ Draco had asked, his body curled up in front of the fire, bright silver eyes fixed on Harry.

 

 _“Well yeah, they do. But it’s just… it's Malfoy.”_ He finished lamely, unsure of how to explain this to a snake. _“He was like a completely different person. He was nice and… and_ fun _. And I think he wants to be my friend.”_ Harry fretted at him.

 

 _“Is there a reason you do not want to be his friend?”_ Draco asked, his tone strange to Harry.

 

_“Of course not. I mean, I guess I want to, yeah. I just don’t… really know how.”_

 

_“Then learn.”_

 

_“Well what if I bugger it all up and we end up hating each other again?”_

 

_“Does that scare you?”_

 

 _“Yeah, it does.”_ Harry admitted, surprising himself.

 

Draco uncurled his body from the rug and slid up into Harry’s lap, his weight a comfort in Harry’s distressed state. His long neck worked its way up and around Harry’s own and came over his other shoulder, turning to look him directly in the face. Firelight glimmered in his silvery blue eyes.

 

_“If you are afraid of something, you conquer it and vanquish that fear.”_

 

_“You’re weirdly smart, you know. It creeps me out.”_

 

_“One of us has to be.”_

 

So Harry would, he decided. He would be friends with Malfoy and see where it took them. And hoped they wouldn’t muck it up too badly. In the meantime, he had something that he needed to take care of. The visit with the orphans, while immensely enjoyable, had filled Harry with guilt over his godson. Harry hadn’t seen Teddy in five years, and he hadn’t spoken to Andromeda since before he left after the war. This line of thought brought him to Sirius, and the unintentional similarities between the two of them. He missed his godfather then, more than ever, and vowed that he would no longer be absent from Teddy’s life. Harry may have grown up with no parents or family who loved him, but Teddy would.

 

He was nervous when he leaned down in front of the fire, trying to straighten his robes and flatten his hair. Andromeda would be well within her rights to tell him to bugger off, but he hoped not. He briefly wished he would have gotten himself an owl so that he could simply owl her instead of asking face to face, but berated himself. He was a bloody gryffindor, and he was no coward.

 

The floo roared to life and he shouted;

 

“Tonk’s Cottage!”

 

A soft murmur of “Teddy dear, go wait in your room for a few minutes please,” and then Andromeda’s thin frame came into view. Her black hair was piled atop her head in a wispy bun, with wiry strands sticking out here and there. Her severe face was eerily similar to her sister Bellatrix, but softened by her kinder disposition. Though at the moment, her mouth was set in a firm line and her eyes bored into him.

 

“Mr. Potter.” She said firmly. Another wave of guilt and shame swept through him.

 

“Andromeda. I was wondering if we could have a chat?” He asked, frowning up at her. She was silent for a moment as she stared at him, giving him time to squirm uncomfortably.

 

“I suppose. You may come through.”

 

Harry heaved a deep sigh of relief before stepping into the floo and out into the quaint living area of her cottage. It was obvious that a child lived there. Various toys littered the space, a child's broom and small quaffle, a spinning top and stuffed hippogriff. There were colorful drawings spread across the coffee table, the pictures moving across the pages. Andromeda waved a hand at the sofa and he sat dutifully. She sat across from him, folding her hands into her lap. She didn’t offer him tea.

 

“What can I do for you Mr. Potter?”

 

“Um. I know it’s been a while.” Harry murmured.

 

“It’s been five years.” Her eyes flashed dangerously, reminding him of Mcgonagall.

 

“Yes, I know.” He swallowed. “I had to sort some things out, I wasn’t fit to be around other people, least of all Teddy,”

 

“I understand that. But you left without offering any kind of explanation. Without saying goodbye. It isn’t like I could keep your existence from him, when anytime we’re out in public someone has to ask if poor Teddy has heard from his Harry Potter, his _godfather_!” She hissed angrily. Harry felt his face flush.

 

“You have every right to be angry.” He whispered.

 

“Believe me Mr. Potter, I am under no delusion as to my rights.” She said, her voice low and simmering with anger. Harry hesitated.

 

“I don’t, er, I’m not-” He started, fumbling. “I didn’t come here to try to, you know, take him or anything-”

 

“I should bloody well hope not!” She said, forgetting to keep her voice low as she rose quickly from the couch. Harry noticed the wand in clutched in her fingers. He held his hands out to pacify her, speaking quickly.

 

“I would never dream of it Andromeda! I only came to apologize and explain! I know I messed up, I know I’ve been a terrible godfather and I have no excuses! But I’m better now, and I’ve come back, and… well I don’t want Teddy to grow up like I did.” He said, pleading.

 

“He won’t, as he has me. I have cared for that child like he is my own. He is healthy and happy here. As his grandmother and guardian, it is my job to keep him safe from situations or people who may do him harm. Physical, emotional, or otherwise.”

 

“I understand. I only wanted to show you that I’m back. That I… that I would like to be a part of his life, if you’ll let me.” He looked up at her, wringing his hands together as he leaned forward on the couch. She still stood, staring down at him.

 

“I will take your request under consideration. For now, you may leave.” She spoke, voice void of emotion. It was all Harry could ask for. He nodded and stood.

 

“Thank you.” He offered sincerely, before stepping around the table and reaching for the floo powder.

 

“Mr. Potter.” She said behind him, he paused. “He knows who you are. He asks about you.” Harry closed his eyes, pained.

 

“I’m so sorry Andromeda. Really.”

 

“Good day, Mr. Potter.”

 

He stepped through the floo, heading home.

 

* * *

 

 

 

A few days later he had received Malfoy's owl again, requesting his permission to slip Harry’s name into their next charity advertisement in the PROPHET. Harry sent a quick reply that yes, that was fine, and the results were evident in the next day's paper, which just happened to be Saturday before he was due at the Burrow.

 

The bold headline made the front page, as Harry knew it would.

 

**SAVIOR ALLIES WITH MALFOY FAMILY**

 

In a brief interview given by Draco Malfoy himself, he claimed

an agreement had been made between himself and Harry Potter to work

together on the charity organization known as New Hope, which was founded

by Malfoy himself just after the end of the war. “Potter and I have

spoken about it and we both agreed that his name, whether intentional

or not, has the potential to do a lot of good for those that our organization

seeks to help.” -Draco Malfoy. Malfoy confirmed that Potter would

indeed attend next month's event, and as such we here at the PROPHET

have already received an alarming amount of owls from witches and wizards

requesting details in hopes to attend.

 

Harry grimaced, not looking forward to whatever event Malfoy had planned. He had yet to make such a public appearance, it would be a true test of his control. Perhaps Ron and Hermione would go with him. At least Hermione. Harry didn’t think she’d mind.

 

He finished his morning rituals and headed out to the Burrow, greeting Mrs. Weasley happily and agreeing to fly a game of quidditch with Ron, George, Ginny, Bill, and Charlie. The last two had arrived in that morning, as per Mrs. Weasley's request, for a proper dinner. They were equally happy to see Harry, and delighted in the chance to ‘stomp him at quidditch’.

 

The lot of them ascended the field they had long since deemed their own personal quidditch pitch, and split into teams. Harry had attempted to team with Ginny but was unable to, due to a unanimous vote that it wouldn’t be fair. Hermione hovered below, in order to referee. Seemed pointless to Harry, as everyone cheated in Weasley quidditch and no one was going to listen to Hermione's shrill admonishments anyway. But that was all part of the fun.

 

Hours later they strode back to the house, sweaty and red faced, despite the cold air. After a quick wash up, they once again gathered around the table that was made even more cramped by the added presence of the eldest Weasley sons. Harry looked around the table fondly, listening as Ron and Ginny bickered about the Harpies chances against the Cannons, as Bill explained to Molly that Fleur was in France visiting her parents, and Hermione enthusiastically described her most recent reform to Percy and Arthur. It was loud and chaotic, and it was just a normal dinner with his family.

 

Harry was leaning back in his chair, patting his stomach contentedly, when the floo chimed.

 

“I’ll get it.” Arthur groaned, rising with some effort. He left the table and the conversation carried on without him, until he shouted from the living room. “Ron, Hermione, Percy, Harry, get in here!”

 

The frantic scraping of chairs was heard as the four of them struggled their way into the living room to find Arthur crouched down in front of the fire speaking with someone who obviously worked for the ministry.

 

“There’s been another attack,” Arthur informed them.

 

“What’s happened?” Ron asked, leaning down, his demeanor changing from the Ron Harry knew to the Auror Weasley that he didn’t.

 

“Narcissa Malfoy was just attacked in Diagon Alley. There were at least three of them, our curse detectors didn’t go off so we weren’t informed until she was already on her way to St Mungo’s-”

 

“Mrs. Malfoy was attacked? Is she okay?” Harry butted in impatiently, he felt Ron and Hermione glance at him.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t know. It’s a mess Weasley, you should really get down there.” He said, this time to Ron.

 

“Of course. Let me get my cloak.”

 

The floo call ended and Ron ran back to the kitchen for his cloak, Arthur and Percy in a rush behind him. Harry looked to Hermione.

 

“I have to go to St Mungo’s.” He said quickly, surprised when she merely nodded.

 

“I’ll come with you.”

 

They and the other’s left the house in a hurry, sprinting to the end of the drive to apparate.

 

“Ron, Harry and I will be at St Mungo’s,” She called to him, and it was a testament to how focused he was that he didn’t ask questions. He and the others apparated quickly, leaving Harry and Hermione alone.

 

“Can I side along?” Harry asked her, breathless.

 

“Of course, grab on-” He clutched her arm and was sucked along, body being squeezed tight- then they were in the brightly gleaming entrance room of St Mungo’s. Harry spotted Malfoy immediately, arguing loudly with the desk clerk.

 

“I don’t _care_ if she’s unconscious, I want to see her!” Harry and Hermione hurried to his side.

 

“What happened?” Harry butted in, glancing from the desk witch to Malfoy.

 

“Mr. Potter!” She exclaimed, but Malfoy cut her off, only letting his surprise at Harry’s arrival show for a moment.  

 

“They won’t let me in to see her,” He answered, his voice low but laced with concern as he and Harry stared at each other. Malfoy was twitchy, switching his weight from one foot to the next, fingers of one hand drumming anxiously on the counter. The look in his eyes made something clench uncomfortably in Harry’s chest.

 

“Why can’t we see her?” Harry turned to the witch, aware of Malfoy's focus on him. It wasn’t weird, right? Malfoy was upset. The moment between them wasn’t weird, he just needed someone to help him calm down, that’s all. His mother had been attacked, for merlin's sake. Right.

 

“As I was _trying_ to tell Mr. Malfoy,” Her tone irritably directly at Malfoy, “They are still examining her and running diagnostic spells. As soon as they are finished and know which curse was cast on her, we will know whether or not she is safe to have visitors. In the meantime, _please_ take a seat.” She jabbed her finger in the direction of the squashy purple waiting chairs.

“Come on,” Hermione murmured, shooing them both to the waiting area. Malfoy seemed to deflate reluctantly, slumping into one of the chairs, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hand, fingers tugging at his hair. Harry sat next to him, hesitant and awkward, but didn’t touch him. He blearily nodded when Hermione mumbled something about getting tea.

 

People bustled around them, medi witches and wizards and others with strange ailments that Harry had no energy to be interested in. The waiting room was bright and cheery, but the atmosphere didn’t touch them. He heard Malfoy let out a shaky breath, his blond hair fluttering around his hidden face.

 

“I can’t lose her.” He whispered, so quietly that Harry almost didn’t hear. And though they were now supposed to be friends, now that they had put the past behind them and agree to forge a new future, Harry was still at a loss. Decided to be friends didn’t make them friends. Harry had no idea how to comfort Malfoy, he had no idea what would be the right thing to say.

 

“She’ll be alright,” He tried meekly, twisting his own hands together.

 

“You don’t know that!” Malfoy snapped, sounding much more familiar and putting Harry on edge. He bit his tongue though, and instead of responding with a heated comment of his own he stayed silent. Malfoy didn’t mean it. He was just worried. Instead he sat there, offering his silent support.

 

Hermione returned a few minutes later, two steaming cups of tea in hand. She offered one to Malfoy, who took it but didn’t drink it. He stared down into the dark liquid as though it held answers to all his questions. Harry took his own tea and took a small sip, but didn’t taste anything.

 

He sat between Malfoy and Hermione blankly, thinking of his own mother, and how he would feel if it were her in there. He would be a right mess, he was sure. Harry and Narcissa had never been close, but he still felt an immense debt to her, and he knew that Malfoy loved her fiercely. He swallowed, hoping that she would be okay.

 

The War Council had made a mistake, he thought when he chanced a quick glance at Malfoy's pale face. They had attacked the wrong woman and threatened the wrong family. The rigid lines around Malfoy’s mouth betrayed his anger, and Harry knew that Malfoy would find a way to make them pay for it. Harry was suddenly concerned, unsure of how far Malfoy would go to do it, and unwilling to let him ruin his hard earned reputation for revenge. Only another reason why Narcissa needed to survive. Her death would only add more fuel to that fire.

 

“Mr. Malfoy?” A wizard in lime green robes stepped forward, glancing around the waiting room. The three of them stood quickly, and the mediwizard stepped forward, speaking directly to Malfoy. “She’s okay.” Malfoy sagged, for a second Harry thought he might fall.

 

“What happened?” He demanded.

 

“They seemed to have hit her with a few stunners and some kind of variation of Morsmordre, trapping her inside the skull. That is how they found her, I’m told. Two or three stunners at once will leave her unconscious for at least the rest of the night, she should recover and wake sometime tomorrow. She’s lucky, anymore than that and there could have been serious damage. You can go in and see her for a few minutes, then I suggest you go home and get some rest. You can come back and wait with her tomorrow morning.” He offered professionally, but not unkind. Malfoy merely nodded, lips locked together in a thin line.

 

“Thank you,” Hermione told the mediwizard. He inclined his head and left them.

 

“Do you need…?” Harry began uncertainly.

 

“No, I’m fine. I’m just going to see her then I’ll… I’ll go home. I need to inform Blaise.” Malfoy muttered absently.

 

“Alright. Well. I’m glad she’s okay. I’ll come back in the morning?” Harry asked, the last of his words lilting into a question. Everything was so weird. They were friends, and friends do this kind of thing, right? A friend would come back and check on his friend's mother, right?

 

“Okay. Yes.” Malfoy said, as if only just remembering that Harry was there. “Thank you.” He said, looking at Harry directly, eyes too wide, face still too pale.

 

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Harry said, with an awkward wave. Malfoy didn’t respond, he merely stared at Harry until he turned and walked away.

 

Hermione stayed at his side, and Harry didn’t know what she was thinking, but he couldn’t find the strength to worry about it. He was too busy trying to not feel so confused about his new strained friendship with Malfoy.

 

“Harry,” She spoke quietly and he looked up, realizing that they were outside and that she was holding out her arm. He took it woodenly, and let her apparate them back to the Burrow.

 

The night air was freezing, and Harry’s breath came out in white puffs as they walked side by side back up the drive to the house.

 

“I’m just going to go home. I don’t feel like explaining to everyone,” He murmured, not looking at her as they reached the house.

 

“Harry,” She said again, waiting until he relented and she caught his eye. “It’s okay to care, you know. He has changed. He’s a different person. We all are. We’re allowed to forge new friendships and start over.” Her deep brown eyes were soft with understanding, and bless her, as it was just what Harry needed to hear.

 

“Thank you 'Mione.” He said, smiling a bit and hugging her. She hugged him back tightly for a moment, then released him and waved before heading into the house. Harry took a deep inhale of the night air and wandered around the house to where he had parked his motorcycle.

 

It was late when he arrived back at Grimmauld Place, his bike touching down and coming to a stop in the back garden. Harry entered the house and called out for Draco, but all was silent. He sighed and went up for a quick shower then crawled alone into bed, waking a few hours when he felt the dip of his mattress and Draco’s long body wrap around him. It seemed he clung a little more tightly to Harry than usual, but he was too sleepy to care, and when he woke in the morning Draco was gone again.

 

* * *

 

 

Malfoy was sitting in one of those squishy purple chairs, he had pulled it right up next to the bed where Narcissa lay sleeping. His face was tired and drawn, his hair less than immaculate. He didn’t hear Harry when he walked in, and jerked in surprise when he let out a soft “hey,” . 

 

“Good morning,” Malfoy croaked, eyes leaving Harry and resting again on his mother. Her soft hair was spread over the pillow neatly, as though Malfoy had messed with it, smoothing it down. Her hands were resting lightly on her stomach, she looked like she was simply sleeping.

 

“No changes?” Harry asked quietly. Malfoy shook his head. Harry was quiet for a moment. “Have you eaten?” Malfoy shook his head again. “Let's go down to the cafeteria, you need to eat something.” He expected Malfoy to argue, but he just sighed and stood.

 

They were silent on the way down. Malfoy sat at one of the tables while Harry went to grab breakfast, but he denied all that Harry brought him except the steaming mug of tea.

 

“Did they find out anything about who did it?” Malfoy asked a few minutes later, breaking the silence. Harry shook his head.

 

“No. I spoke to Ron through the floo this morning before I came here. There were people on the street when it happened, witnesses said they attacked her as she was coming out of Madam Malkin's, but they were wearing masks.” Harry said darkly, aware of another hate group that attacked people while wearing masks. It seemed that Malfoy was thinking the same thing, as the expression on his face darkened ominously, and he didn’t reply. Harry couldn’t stop the glance to his arm, covered to the wrist by the sleeves of his dress shirt, and hoped that Malfoy didn’t notice.

 

The cafeteria wasn’t crowded, but there were enough people for Harry to notice the staring and the muttering. It seemed that Draco was starting to notice too, because he was looking increasingly uncomfortable.

 

“Come on, let's head back.” Harry offered, draining the last of his tea and grabbing a piece of toast to go. Malfoy followed him to the door, but Harry stopped in the entranceway, his gaze caught by the neat stack of the PROPHET just next to it. He snatched a copy of the paper and held it open, feeling Malfoy peer at it over his shoulder. His proximity unnerved him.

 

**WAR COUNCIL ATTACKS NARCISSA MALFOY**

Various eye witness reports state that Mrs. Malfoy was cursed

late last night in Diagon alley, by no less than three masked

attackers. She was taken to St Mungo's before Aurors arrived

on the scene, late once again. They were unable to catch

or identify any of the masked witches or wizards involved

in the attack. Our reporter on scene tried to get a statement

but was promptly told to “bugger off” by an apparently flustered

Auror Weasley, who refused to give any information.

 

**BOY WHO LIVED VISITS EX-DEATH EATER FAMILY IN ST MUNGO'S**

After the attack on Narcissa Malfoy, Harry Potter was

Seen with Draco Malfoy in St Mungo's, inquiring as

To the state of Mrs. Malfoy’s health. The recently and suddenly

formed friendship between these two ex-rivals seems to

Have confused many of the wizarding public, and some even

Question if there are darker forces at work here. “Well, I saw

Mr. Malfoy curse Mr. Potter with the Imperio curse last week!” Says

One witch, who preferred to stay anonymous. Has the pairs’ famous

Animosity really come to an end, or has Potter been the victim of

A secret dark plot? “I think Malfoy just wants to use Potter as

A shield, everyone knows that Malfoy Manor is under suspicion,

It’s been raided four times since Lucius Malfoy's death in Azkaban.

If Potter steps in playing the hero, the Ministry will have to stop

Their raids. Then the Malfoys can keep doing whatever dark magic

They’re doing in that house. Mark my words.” Said Mr Pomput, of London.

No matter the reason behind their impromptu friendship, the Savior should

Watch his back around Draco Malfoy, famous ex-death eater who was acquitted

By Potter’s own testimony on his behalf after the fall of he who must not be named.

 

Harry gaped openly at the paper, unaware that he and Malfoy were blocking the doorway as he watched their tiny black and white counterparts staring at each other intensely in the picture below, which seemed to have been taken just as Harry arrived at the check in counter the night before.

 

“Is this a newspaper or a gossip rag?” Malfoy whispered harshly, bringing Harry back to the present.

 

“Your manor has been raided four times?” He suddenly asked, looking at Malfoy's livid face.

 

“Yes, but nothing incriminating was found, as there was nothing to find! People are just trying to dredge up the past and ruin my efforts to clear our name and devote it to helping those who need it.” He breathed angrily.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” Harry demanded, forgetting to lower his voice. People were definitely staring now, and Malfoy's face was rapidly losing its paleness in favor of a deep blush.

 

“Because I didn’t think it was important! I thought you had changed and that you understood what I was trying to do, that you wanted to help!”

 

“Of course I want to help, but you should have told me this Malfoy! Now I look like an idiot, like I’m just trying to save your arse or like you’ve hexed me-”

 

“Well excuse me for not allowing you access to every tiny detail of my life! Would you like my account statements too? My floo records?” Malfoy snarled.

 

“Don’t bloody start! Are you using me Malfoy? Is that it? Is this new start some kind of ruse so that you can hide behind my name while you get on with your dirty buisness?” Harry spat viciously, temper getting well out of hand.

“ _How dare_ -” Malfoy began, but bit down on whatever he was going to say next. Eyes narrowed and face flushed, he abruptly turned on his heel and stalked away, leaving Harry with a view of his slim back.

 

Harry’s magic was spitting angrily, waxing and waning around him darkly, threatening to lash out. One wizard who stood nearby yelped and jumped back, dropping his tea, the shattering sound deafeningly loud in the wake of their argument. Harry bit his tongue, realizing suddenly how out of control he was. He fled, returning to the entrance floor and leaving the building before he could do any real damage.

 

He hadn’t an accident like that in years, leave it to bloody Malfoy to take his self control and throw it out the bloody window. He needed to get home, he needed to get away from people and noise and meditate and get himself back under wraps. His motorcycle was parked in a garage nearby and he wasted no time, not even to apply warming charms, before he was in the air and flying back to Grimmauld Place at a furious pace.

 

Draco was absent when Harry entered the house, to his relief, as conversation and questions was the last thing he needed. He was frozen from the flight, and bounded straight up to the drawing room. Upon entering he thrust his hand angrily in the direction of the fireplace and flames exploded in the grate with such force that they knocked Harry off of his feet and he landed heavily on his back on the hardwood floor.  

 

He lay still, groaning in pain, feeling the heat of the flames lick at his legs as it burned a bit too strongly. His body was tense, anger still simmering over his fight with Malfoy. He could smell burnt fabric from the chairs in front of the fireplace. He didn’t dare use magic to fix them.

 

Instead he just remained on the floor, breathing deeply, trying to relax his body and mind. It took a long time before he was willing to sit up, folding his legs in his traditional pose, resting his palms on his knees. Breathing in, breathing out.

 

Once he was calmer and felt confident that his magic was back under control, he mentally revisited his conversation with Malfoy. Admittedly, he could have handled it better. Harry didn’t honestly believe that crap in the PROPHET about Malfoy using him to get off of the Ministry’s bad list. He had been caught off guard reading it in the paper like that, and let his mind and mouth run away with him. In the hospital just after his mother had been attacked, no less.

 

He was an idiot and he owed Malfoy an apology, and dammit all, he was an adult and he would bloody well do it. Tomorrow. Perhaps.

 

He sighed and opened his eyes, noticing that the fire was burning at a much safer pace. Harry had no idea what time it was, but it had to be late. It was dark outside the windows, snow still falling in soft flakes.

 

His body ached from sitting on the floor so long, and his legs and back cracked painfully when he stood, stretching. He trudged up to his room and collapsed in his bed, alone, and slept fitfully.

 

He dreamed that he was standing in the snow, with tiny fingers tugging at his jacket and hands. _What are you waiting for?_ Came a voice next to him, and he turned to see Dobby peering up at him. _I’m waiting for him to get here._ Harry said. _But he’s not coming._ Came another voice, and Harry looked back over to Dobby to see that it wasn’t Dobby anymore, it was a person in a mask, white and gleaming, like a skull. He jumped back, raising his wand- but he didn’t have a wand. His wand was gone, and he couldn’t do any magic. He stepped back but tripped over something, falling back into the snow and saw a body on the ground before him, motionless, silver blue eyes staring, pale hair fanned out on the snow around his head- there was a green skull in the air above him, with a white snake twisting out of it’s mouth- Harry woke up screaming.

 

He lept out of bed, shaking off the nightmare, breathing heavily as he paced around the room. His gaze roamed hurriedly over the bed, the rug, where was Draco? Suddenly worried, Harry left his room and ran down to the drawing room, but Draco wasn’t there either. Nor in the kitchen. Harry couldn’t find the snake anywhere. Still in a slight panic from the dream and now the added worry about Draco, he ran back up to the drawing room and thrust his hand into the small pot by the grate, pausing just before he threw the powder into the fireplace. He battled with himself, he had no idea what time it was, it wasn’t polite to call on someone in the middle of the night, but he didn't’ care, he had to see-

 

And he threw the flames into the fire place and yelled, voice catching from his sleep;

 

“Malfoy Manor!” Warm green light lit his face as the floo connected and showed him an empty room for just a moment before;

 

“Mr Potter?” Came the tiny squeak. Tip was standing in front of the fire anxiously, staring up at him with her eerily large eyes.

 

“Yes, is Malfoy home?”

 

“Master Malfoy is being in his chambers sir.”

 

“Fetch him please. I need to speak with him.” She nodded, eyes wide, and disappeared with a crack. Harry waited impatiently with his head in the fire for a few minutes before he saw Malfoy walk into the room. He didn’t want to think of how relieved this made him.

 

“May I come through?” He asked urgently. Malfoy had his eyes narrowed, his pointy face set in a closed off expression, as he gave one sharp nod. Relieved, Harry stepped through, ignoring the fact that he was dressed in simple cotton sleep trousers and a ratty old white t-shirt, his feet bare on the rug. Malfoy was still dressed from the day before, but his shirt sleeves were folded back to his forearms, wrinkled slightly around his vest. Harry saw a bit of black peeking from his sleeve on one arm.

 

Malfoy must have caught him looking because he scowled angrily and crossed his arms.

 

“What do you want Potter?” He spat.

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry blurted, embarrassed, but just so weirdly relieved to see Malfoy standing, flushed, alive. He thawed a bit, his tight arms loosening, his pinched face flattening out.

 

“I beg your pardon?” He asked, as though he didn’t hear Harry properly.

 

“I said, I’m sorry. I know you weren’t, I know you wouldn’t. Erm. The PROPHET is stupid, and I didn’t mean what I said.” He offered, words coming out in a rush before he could stop himself. Malfoy let his arms fall.

 

“I accept your apology.” He responded, almost in a question. They stared at each other awkwardly for a moment, before Malfoy asked; “Why are you here in the middle of the night in your bedclothes?”

 

“I, ah, couldn’t sleep.” Harry answered, feeling his face flush stupidly. Malfoy just nodded, staring at him. “How is your mum?”

 

“She woke up this afternoon. She’ll be home in the morning.” Malfoy answered.

 

“That's good. Um, great. Really. I’m glad.” Harry offered. Why was this so awkward and difficult?? “Well I should probably-” Harry gestured to the floo behind him, but was interrupted;

 

“Draco?” Blaise Zabini had appeared in the doorway, tall, dark, and regal as ever. He looked from Malfoy to Harry questioningly. “Potter.” He offered in greeting.

 

“Zabini.” Harry nodded.

 

“I’ll be in there in a minute Blaise.” Malfoy said softly. Zabini nodded and left the room, going back to wherever he had come from. What the hell was Zabini doing at Malfoy's house in the middle of the night?

 

Malfoy and Harry stared at each other for a moment more before Harry shook himself, said a quick goodnight, and left through the floo. He stepped into the drawing room at Grimmauld Place breathing as though he had just run very fast. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? Running off to Malfoy's house in the middle of the night, in his pajamas, bare footed! He didn't even want to consider what his hair must look like.

 

He walked back up to his room in dazed confusion, wondering about strange things, like why was Malfoy still up and dressed, and again what Zabini had been doing there. Surely they weren’t working at this hour? Harry sat back down on his bed, noticing again Draco’s absence, and wishing he was there. He rolled back into his bed and went back to sleep, praying to Merlin that he didn't dream.

 

* * *

 

 

He woke up smothered under the weight of a great, fat, white snake.

 

 _“Draco, gerroff”_ He mumbled, blinking his eyes open slowly. The weight began to slide off of him.

 

 _“You look terrible.”_ The snake informed him, and Harry sat up, waking more thoroughly.

 

 _“Where were you last night?”_ He questioned, frowning as he shoved his glasses back on his nose.

 

_“Searching for food.”_

 

 _“All night?”_ Harry asked, incredulous.

 

 _“I’ve eaten all of your rats. I have to go outside to find food now. That takes longer.”_ He responded, sliding the rest of the way off of the bed. Harry grunted, irritated.

 

Harry was pulling a hoodie over his head as he heard a tap at the window. A soft grey owl was perched outside, its eyes sleepy as it clutched a letter in its beak. Harry walked over, bare feet cold on the hard floor, and unlatched the window. His breath caught when he saw that the letter was from Andromeda. The owl’s eyes widened and it let out a low hiss as it spotted Draco behind him. Exasperated, Harry said to the owl;

 

“Um, could you wait just a sec so I can reply?” It glared at him as he gently took the envelope, but didn’t fly away. He opened it quickly and read over her words before snatching a quill off of the bedside table and scribbling his reply that, yes, he would love to have tea with her and Teddy this afternoon. The owl snatched the letter out of his fingers, sent Draco one last hateful look, then took flight.

 

 _“That’s just weird, you know?”_ Harry told him.

 

 _“Silly creatures, owls.”_ Draco said as he slithered away from him and out of the door, presumably down to the kitchen. Harry sighed and followed him. He really should get an owl. He had never been able to, after the death of Hedwig. It had been so long though, and an owl would be incredibly useful. If he could keep it away from Draco.

 

He gave Draco some raw eggs and scrambled his own, before sitting down with his tea and breakfast to read the PROPHET that was always left on the windowsill above the sink. He was pleased to read that Mrs. Malfoy had been sent home early that morning, with a clean bill of health. Malfoy must be so relieved, he mused. As he thought of Malfoy and read over the PROPHET, an idea occurred to him. He bit his lip, unsure of himself. He usually did his best to stay out of the papers, and if he did this it would put him directly in the spotlight again. Of course, they would find something to write about him no matter what, so it might as well be what he wants them to write. And well, it would helps Malfoys cause. Not to mention that it would probably please him immensely. After Harry’s outburst, he owed it to him. As a friend. Because that’s what friends did.

 

Nonetheless, Harry decided he would get Ron and Hermione's opinion on the matter before informing Malfoy, so dressed and- thinking again that he needed to get an owl- he floo’d to the Ministry. He kept his head down as he rode the lift to the Ron’s floor, and strode quickly to his cubicle, silently thanking Merlin when he spotted Ron hunched over his desk. Harry ducked in and sat in the chair next to him, rolling over and bumping his chair against Ron’s desk with a grin. Ron jumped.

 

“Blimey Harry, how did you get in here?”

 

“I walked in, of course.” Harry said.

 

“Can’t believe no one stopped you.” Ron said, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head.

 

“Me either. What are you and Mione doing tonight?”

 

“Dunno. Dinner whenever they set her free. The usual. Why?”

 

“Can I join you?”

 

“‘Course.” Ron said, frowning at him like he had grown another nose.

 

“Excellent. Round six?”

 

“Yeah, she should be home by then. There is a good take away place near the flat, we’ll order in.”

 

“Sounds good.” Harry said, glancing interestedly around Ron’s desk.

 

“Everything alright?” Ron asked, still watching him.

 

“Yeah, just like to see you guys every now and then, you know?” Ron nodded.

 

“I went to see Andromeda.” Harry said after a minute.

 

“How’d that go?”

 

“She nearly hexed me.” Harry grimaced. Ron sighed.

 

“Well mate, to be fair, you might have deserved it.”

 

“I know. I’m trying though, you know?” He mumbled, fingering his robes.

 

“Yeah I know. I get it. So what did she say?”

 

“She said she’d think about it, and this morning I got an owl from her. She’s invited me to tea today.”

 

“Well that’s great! So you’ll see Teddy?”

 

“Yeah. Bloody nervous about it too.” Harry confessed.

 

“Don’t be. You’ll be fine. Kids love you. Dunno why.” Ron teased and Harry shoved his chair with his foot, sending him rolling across the room.

 

They chatted aimlessly for a while. Harry asked Ron about his cases and that led to Ron complaining about his partner, who sounded like a prat. They talked about Hermione’s busy schedule and the nonexistent progress they had made with the War Council. By the time Harry waved goodbye, it was time for him to head to Andromeda’s house for tea. He slipped into a lift and hoped he’d be able to get out of the Ministry as easily as he had gotten in, but his efforts were in vain.

 

Strangely enough, it was Blaise Zabini who ended up in the lift with him. What he was doing at the Ministry, Harry hadn’t a clue. Harry nodded to him awkwardly and Zabini returned his stilted greeting, before saying;

 

“Strange to have you back, Potter. However, Draco seems pleased. He appreciates your efforts to help his company.” He drawled, looking over at Harry’s face.

 

“Er, well I’m happy to help.” He offered.

 

“Hmm.” Zabini merely said, shrugging his wide shoulders. Apparently, he was just as mysterious as ever. A bit put off, he nodded to the man as they stepped off of the lift into the Atrium, and made his way quickly over to the floo.

 

He stepped nervously into Andromeda’s sitting room, wiping soot from his glasses. Her soft murmur could be heard from the kitchen, arguing with the voice of a small boy, and Harry attempted to calm his nerves. What if Teddy hated him?

 

“No, the _chocolate_ ones,” He heard Teddy say.

 

“Harry might not like the chocolate ones, Teddy.” Andromeda scolded gently.

 

“He _will_ like them.” Harry smiled, hearing her exasperated sigh.

 

He waited impatiently by the floo until Andromeda strolled in, her hair in a much neater bun atop her head, carrying a silver tea tray. Harry smiled when he saw the chocolate hobnobs sitting neatly on a little plate. He couldn’t help but think of Malfoy.

 

But thoughts of Malfoy fluttered right out of his head when Teddy appeared, clutching the bottom of Andromeda’s robes and peering up at him shyly.

 

“Hullo,” Harry said softly, smiling at him.

 

“You’re Harry Potter,” Teddy whispered, glancing up at Andromeda before looking back to him.

 

“I am.”

 

“You’re my godfather.” Teddy informed him, with a bit of defiance.

 

“Yes, I am. I wanted to come and apologize for not being here before.” Harry said, bending down slowly to put them on the same level.

 

“Granma said you had a hard time when you beat you know who and that you had to go away for a while.” He said, glancing up at Andromeda again.

 

“Your Granma is a very wise and kind woman.” Harry told him, looking up to Andromeda. She nodded and Harry thought he saw a ghost of a smile, before she placed the tea tray on the coffee table and sat on the couch opposite him. Teddy stood standing next to her, studying Harry.

 

“Do you like chocolate biscuits?”

 

“I love chocolate biscuits.” Teddy grinned and plucked one off of the tray, handing it to him. Harry took it, thanked him, and ate it with obvious enthusiasm. This delighted little Teddy, who promptly told Andromeda “I _told_ you he’d like them,”.

 

They sat for a while, chatting happily under the watchful eye of Andromeda. Teddy was a wonderful child, innocent, imaginative and enthusiastic about everything in that way that all children should be. He loved quidditch, which interested and pleased Harry to no end. According to Andromeda, he loved quidditch so much that he was frequently in trouble for playing it in the house. He grinned bashfully at Harry as his grandma told him this, and Harry couldn’t help but grin back at him.

 

He also amazed and awed Harry when no less than an hour into their visit, he abruptly changed his hair to black and his eyes to green. It was like Harry was looking down at a tiny version of himself, and he felt his throat close up a bit. Teddy’s wild hair was sticking up in every direction and his eyes were alight with glee as Harry praised him for his talent, obviously inherited from Tonks. He and Andromeda shared a sad look, both feeling the lingering for ache that those who should have been with them but weren’t.

 

When it was time for Harry to go, Teddy ran up to him and grabbed him around the legs, begging so sweetly for Harry to stay. It made his heart ache.

 

“I’m sorry Teddy, I wish I could. I promise you, I will come back and see you very soon.” He offered, shooting a quick glance up at Andromeda, relieved when she nodded.

 

“Alright. Next time we can go outside and play quidditch!” He gushed, eyes wide with excitement.

 

“I would love to. I’ll bring my broom, and my snitch.”

 

“You have a snitch?” He whispered with awe.

 

“Yes. Next time I come I’ll bring it to show you.”

 

“Promise you’ll come back soon?”

 

“I promise.”

 

Teddy hugged him tightly around the legs before letting him go and stepping back to Andromeda.

 

“Thank you.” Harry told her, knowing his words weren’t really enough, but he felt that she understood him anyway.

 

“You’re welcome Harry.”

 

“I’ll see you soon Teddy.” Harry said, smiling at him.

 

“Okay. Bye!”

 

Harry waved before stepping through the floo, out into his drawing room at Grimmauld Place. His house seemed dark and quiet after the brightly lit sitting room at the cottage. He ran upstairs to change before heading back down to the floo and through to Ron and Hermione’s flat.

 

“How did it go?” Ron asked as he was placing takeaway containers and bottled butterbears on the table. Hermione, who had just walked in, hugged Harry and asked;

 

“How did what go?”

 

“I went and saw Teddy.” Harry told her.

 

“Oh Harry that’s wonderful! How is he? And Andromeda?”

 

They all sat around Ron and Hermione’s neat little table and ate while Harry told them about his visit and his plans to go back. From there the conversation moved onto Hermione’s reforms and the argument she had had just that afternoon about registration lists for were-wizards and witches and animagus.

 

“I really don’t know why he’s making such a fuss over it! It’s not that I don’t think that they shouldn’t be registered, I do because it’s only practical. I just think that a few simple changes would make their lives much easier.” She huffed. Harry thought of Lupin and how much trouble he had always had, and how he had left Hogwarts and agreed.

 

“For example, I do not think the lists should be public. When receiving an application for employment, an employer should be able to check the lists, but as far as someone just waltzing in to see if their neighbor is indeed a werewolf, no.”

 

“I’d want to know if my neighbor was a werewolf. Or if my pet rat was an animagus.” Ron said darkly.

 

“Yours was a special case Ronald. Not every animagus uses their form to trick their way into people's homes as common pets.” She scolded him.

 

“But the lists aren’t public are they?” Harry asked her.

 

“No, but they will be if Borin has his way. Hence the argument. He’s trying to make them accessible to the public. Right now they’re locked up in Ministry archives and only those with clearance can get to them, but it seems that he’s trying to submit just as many reforms as I am. He’s a complete troll.” She added, to the surprise of Ron and Harry.

 

“Good job there, love.” He laughed.

 

“Sorry you guys. He’s just set on making my job as difficult as possible. Anyway, enough about me. How have you been Harry? Are you coping alright?” She asked, turning her formidable attention to him.

 

“Er, yeah alright I guess. Well. You saw the articles in the prophet the day after Malfoy's mum was attacked?” Ron and Hermione nodded. “Well I happened to be at the hospital with Malofy that morning when we saw the paper. We got into an argument and I said some stupid things and well. It wasn’t good.” He confessed, looking down into his butterbeer.

 

“Oh Harry.” Hermione sighed.

 

“Who cares? Malfoy is a prat anyway. I wouldn’t be surprised if all that nonsense is true.” Ron shrugged.

 

“Ronald! It most certainly is not true, and Harry knows that. Don’t you Harry?” She directed the last towards him, and Harry nodded sheepishly.

 

“Well yeah, but I lost my temper, and well. Anyway. I did go and apologize.” He added, though neglected to mention that he showed up to the manor in the middle of the night and barely dressed.

 

“Well good. So you got it sorted out then?” She asked.

 

“Yeah I did. But it was weird, when I went there, Zabini was there.” He told her.

 

“Of course he was.” She said, as though it was to be expected.

 

“Well I know they work together but it was a bit late, is all.” Harry murmured.

 

“Harry, honestly. Draco and Blaise are together.” She said, frowning and shaking her head at him.

 

“What?” Harry asked, jerking his head up.

 

“They’re together. As in, they’re dating. I’m not sure how serious it is but-”

 

“Malfoy is gay?”

 

“Of course. Everyone knows he’s a bloody ponce.” Ron said, laughing at Harry.

 

“Ronald!” Hermione exclaimed, slapping him on the arm.

 

“What? I’m only joking Mione, you know I don’t care if Malfoy is a shirtlifter. You know Charlie-”

 

But Harry wasn’t listening. He was too busy being assaulted by the repeated thought in his head that _Malfoy was gay_. Why did that affect him so much? Why hadn’t he realized? Why was he mentally examining every interaction between the two of them since he had come back?   

 

“Harry?” Hermione's voice brought him back to the present and he looked up to see both of them staring at him.

 

“Yeah? Sorry. Uh I wanted to ask you something.” He blurted.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Well I was thinking of making a public announcement about offering my support to his charity. And letting everyone know that I don’t support these attacks.”

 

“But you hate the press.” Ron said, looking at him strangely.

 

“I do, but if they’re going to talk about me I’d rather it be something I tell them to say than them making up shite.” He grouched.

 

“Are you sure Harry? Standing up there next to Malfoy is making a pretty big statement. Not that I don’t agree!” She said at his look. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

 

“I know. I’ve thought about it, and I think I’m gonna do it. After I talk to him about it, of course. I want people to realize that things are different now. That we all need to work together to get past it all, not tear each other apart. If Malfoy and I can work together, than anyone can.” He said, and neither of them had anything to say to that.

 

Before he left their flat, he borrowed Hermione’s owl and sent it to Malfoy with a request to see him the following day. He bade them goodnight and floo’d home, falling into bed after removing his shoes.

 

 _“You smell like many things today.”_ Draco hissed at him, sliding up onto the bed.

 

 _“I’ve been to see a lot of people.”_ He yawned.

 

_“Such an interesting life you seem to lead now that you’ve returned.”_

 

“Yeah no shite.” He mumbled to himself as he closed his eyes.

 

He thought again of Malfoy, the shock of it still affecting him. Should he have realized? Was that something that people are just supposed to know? Or is he just a clueless idiot? And did it matter? Did it change Harry’s perception of him? He wanted to say no, but that wasn’t true. It did. It changed everything.

 

Harry thought of the way Malfoy looked at him that day at the Manor, with his eyes alight and his cheeks flushed. He had never given much thought to his own sexuality, due to the Dursley’s prejudices and having never had much time for dating before and after the war. He was mature enough now to know that the Dursleys opinions were shit, and to know that he and Ginny were probably not meant to be. Harry had figured that he would find another girl eventually.

 

But what if he didn’t?

 

He bit his lip in the dim light, ignoring Draco’s mumbling about being ignored and considered himself. He had never been overly interested in dating, his crush on Ginny notwithstanding. Thinking about it now, he still felt love for her but it wasn’t… she was… she was family. Like Hermione and Ron and the rest of the Weasley’s. But Malfoy was… he was just… interesting. He had always found Malfoy interesting, even when he was infuriating. Even when wanted to curse him, Malfoy was always… a special case. There was just something about the man that had always riled him, that had always gotten him heated. Usually with rage but not since he had come back. Since he had come back it was different. Malfoy still got to him but… it made Harry’s stomach knot to think about it.

 

Deciding firmly that that was enough soul searching for the time being, Harry put the blond git out of his mind and got ready for bed. He would revisit the issue, literally, tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

 

The issue was smiling at him and it wasn’t helping Harry’s internal dilemma at all.

 

He sat across from Malfoy once again, sipping tea that tasted like it came from the bloody palace, and tried to explain what it was he was planning to do.

 

“I just think that it would be a good idea to announce publicly that we intend to work together, that I don’t believe any of the nasty rumors they’re spreading, and that I don’t approve of the crap this War Council is doing. We need to stand together on this, so that they don’t try to pick us apart like they did the other morning.” He fumbled, twisting his tea around in his hands.

 

“So you’re saying that you want to tell the PROPHET that you’re officially allying and partnering with me, regardless of the suspicions that I’ve somehow bewitched you into doing so, hence further angering your formidable fanclub and shaking your finger at the naughty War Council.” Malfoy said, his thin fingers fluttering through the air as he spoke.  

 

“Uh. That would be the gist of it, yeah.”

 

“Why?”

 

Malfoys question surprised him, and his intense gaze pinned him to his seat. Why indeed? Why do all this for _Malfoy?_

 

“Because I want to.” He blurted, without thinking.

 

“Hmm.” Malfoy said, studying him. “Alright.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Why not?”

 

Harry laughed, it wasn’t slightly hysterical at all.

 

“Tip!” Malfoy called, and the small house elf appeared before him.

 

“Yes sir?” She squeaked.

 

“Please have an owl sent to the PROPHET requesting their least irritating reporter to come to the Manor at once.” He told her.

 

“What-now?” Harry asked.

 

“Would you prefer to wait?” Malfoy asked politely.

 

“Well no, I just. Alright then.” He nodded to Tip, his stomach full of snakes. Malfoy sent her on her way and looked back to Harry. He could swear he saw a glimmer of amusement in those grey eyes.

 

They waited in silence and Harry was having a difficult time maintaining his composure. And not thinking about Malfoy being gay. He was definitely not thinking about Malfoy being gay. Or about him being with Blaise. Certainly not.

 

“How is Blaise?” He asked lightly. _Fuck._

 

“He’s quite well. He’s visiting some old school friends in Ireland at the moment.” Malfoy said, and Harry swore he knew. He _knew._

 

“Ah. You didn’t want to go with him?” _What the bloody hell am I doing_ he asked himself.

 

“Blaise and I maintain a relationship of convenience. We are not attached at the hip and have no desire to be so.” Malfoy said, eyes boring into Harry uncomfortably. He decided to stop right there and nodded but kept his mouth firmly shut.

 

“What about you and Miss Weasley?” Malfoy asked, not quite masking the sneer on his face.

 

“Ah she, well she’s seeing someone else. Some french broom maker or something.” He mumbled, fiddling with the buttons on his robes.

 

“Hmm. Good for her.” Malfoy offered lightly. Harry nodded again.

 

“Master Malfoy sir, a reporter from the PROPHET is being here to see you.” Tip said, reappearing with a crack.

 

“Send him in.” Malofy said, straightening and wiping the emotion from his face with an ease that disturbed Harry. He hadn’t realized how expressive Malfoy's face had been until it wasn’t anymore.

 

A small man came in, reminding Harry unpleasantly of Wormtail.

 

“Ah Mr Podjus, welcome. So nice to see you again.” Malfoy stood, offering hand. Mr Podjus shook it and smiled his hand.

 

“Master Malfoy yes. How is your dear mother?” His voice was smooth and a bit nasally.

 

“Fully recovered, thank Merlin. I daresay you know Mr Potter?” He gestured towards Harry, who stood.

 

“A pleasure, Mr Potter.” He said, his greedy little eyes raking over Harry’s face as they shook hands. Harry nodded.

 

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” Mr Podjus asked.

 

“Mr Potter and I have an announcement to make.” Malfoy said, smiling a bit mischievously over at Harry.

 

“Oh?” Mr Podjus said, looking interestedly between the two of them. _Oh for the love of-_

 

“Yes sir. I would like to officially announce my intent to work with Malfoy and support his cause, as well as my opinions on this business with the War Council.” Harry said, scowling over at Malfoy.

 

“Oh, excellent!” The small man exclaimed. “Let me just grab my notebook and quill, just a moment Mr Potter…”

 

And then Harry spent the next thirty minutes flustered and answering questions and dodging Malfoy's secret smile. It wasn’t as bad as he had expected in the way that at least it was done in the privacy of Malfoy's home instead of being bombarded like he had been at the Ministry. But it was worse in the way that Malfoy had given him his quiet, undivided attention. And it was very distracting.

 

The worst part by far, was when Mr. Podjus asked them to stand together in front of Malfoy’s large fireplace so that he could take a picture for the article. Malfoy moved to stand in front of the grate, his back straight, suit and hair immaculate, and his face the picture of pleasant amusement. Harry moved awkwardly towards him, standing with a foot of space between them and tried desperately to flatten his hair. As the small man was preparing to take the picture, he heard Malfoy mutter “oh don’t be ridiculous,” before his long fingers closed around Harry’s upper arm and pulled him close enough that their shoulders were brushing. His arm tingled after Malfoy let go, and he was heavily aware of the two inches that separated their heights. He couldn’t help glancing sideways just before he forced a smile, the flash going off in his face.

 

When Mr Podjus was preparing to leave, Malfoy looking over at Harry and inquired;

 

“You’re attending the dinner, aren’t you? This weekend?”

 

“Uh yes?” He offered.

 

“Excellent!” Mr Podjus said, jotting it down before closing his notebook with a snap. “I shall see you both there!” He said, bidding them a good day before exiting the room. Harry blew out a heavy breath.

 

“You enjoyed that way too much.” He accused Malfoy.

 

“Perhaps. If you’re that awkward during a controlled interview like that, it brings me a certain amount of pleasure thinking of all those nasty articles they wrote about you in school.”

 

Harry wished Malfoy wouldn’t refer to his pleasure, no matter the situation.

 

“Nice to know you’re still a prat.” Harry said.

 

“Nice to know you’re still easy to rile up.” Malfoy shot back. They glared at each other for a beat then both broke out in a smile and laughed. And just like that, the tension broke.

 

“No _accidental_ interruption by a bunch of children begging for snow fights today?” Harry quipped. Malfoy laughed.

 

“Not today. And that was _not_ my doing. My mother in an interfering woman, but a genius.” He added after a beat, “You can’t deny that her scheming worked just as she intended.”

 

“No, I can’t deny that. She’s a bit scary, your mum.”

 

“Yes, she is.” Malfoy mused fondly.

 

“So I’ll see you this weekend? Saturday, right?” Harry asked after a moment.

 

“Yes, Saturday at seven. Dress sharp. People will be watching you.” Malfoy said, and Harry got the feeling that Malfoy would be one of those people.

 

“Will Blaise be attending?” He asked, trying to be casual but probably failing.

 

“I believe so, yes.”

 

They stood by the fireplace then, and Harry felt awkward and warm about the ears.

 

“Well, until Saturday.” He said, sticking out his hand and feeling like an idiot but refusing to take it back. Malfoy arched an eyebrow and looked him directly in the eye as he took Harry’s hand, shook it once, then gently released. His fingers trailed across Harry’s palm, leaving him with the urge to rub it against his robes.

 

“Right. Bye.” He said, escaping through the floo as quickly as he could.

 

* * *

 

 

A couple of days later Harry was sitting across from Hermione in a small tea shop in muggle london, the article resting in the space between them. Harry couldn’t stop glancing at it. Malfoy looked tall and regal and perfect, with his silky hair falling around his face and his waistcoat showing his lean chest to its highest advantage. Next to him, Harry looked uncomfortable and a complete mess with his robes a bit crooked and his bloody hair all over the place. He was fidgeting, eyes flickering to Malfoy in a very telling way that made Harry want to stuff his face in his tea.  

 

“It seems to have gone over rather well,” Hermione said, nodding to the paper.

 

“Right. I got a howler this morning. D-Ferret enjoyed that. Laughed about it for nearly half an hour.” Harry muttered, scowling at the memory.

 

“Hmm, yes. How is he doing by the way? Adjusting well?” She asked curiously.

 

“Yeah. Disappears a lot though.” Harry said, frowning.

 

“Disappears?”

 

“Yeah, like sometimes he’s just not in the house. Says he ate all the rats that were about so he has to go outside for food now and that it takes him longer.” Harry said, shrugging as he sipped his tea.

 

“I see.” She hummed. “Ready?” She asked a moment later.

 

“Yeah, I guess.” Harry sighed.

 

Hermione had been nice enough to take the afternoon off in order to help Harry shop for some appropriate dinner attire, seeing as all of his clothes were ratty t-shirts, hoodies, and jeans with holes in them. Ron had tried taking the piss, but Hermione had lightly mentioned that his clothes weren’t much better, which shut him right up. As Ron had no interest in attending Malfoys ‘poncy feast’, Hermione had consented to be his date. So here they were, walking into an upscale muggle clothes shop that made Harry cringe.

 

He followed Hermione around dutifully as she held up silk shirts and ties against his face, something about checking the color against his complexion. He gave her a firm shake of the head when she suggested a waistcoat. Harry knew he could never pull it off the way Malfoy did, and he didn’t even want to try.

 

“So what’s going on between you and Malfoy?” She asked lightly as she thumbed through different fabric blends. Harry nearly choked.

 

“Uh, nothing, why do you ask?” He answered, trying to be as casual as possible.

 

“Well I’m not stupid, for one. I know you Harry, and I know when you’ve got something on your mind. And I’m not blind either. I saw that picture.” She peered at him over the table between them. “You could practically feel the tension.”

 

“It’s nothing, really. Just. You know how it’s always been between us. We’re still trying to figure out how to be civil with each other, is all.” Harry stammered, running a hand through his hair unhelpfully.

 

“If you’re sure… You know you can always talk to me Harry.” She said quietly, not looking at him this time.

 

“I know. Thank you Mione.” He responded, just as quiet.

 

They let the subject drop and she complained about the Borin guy that she was fighting with over her reforms, and how he was dead set on making the registration lists public.

“I’ll probably have to go in for a bit tomorrow before the dinner and see if I can’t get a look at the lists. I’m almost certain that he has some personal reason for why he is fighting so hard to make them public, perhaps he knows someone on the list who he is determined to out as a werewolf…” She trailed off thoughtfully. Harry just hmm’d, unable to offer her any useful advice.

 

Eventually she sent him into the dressing room with various garments, then he spent an hour trying on four different shirts and three different pairs of trousers, and no less than seven dinner jackets. She allowed him to forgo a tie on the condition that he get a pair of italian leather shoes.

 

After having spent over an hour in the shop, Harry stood in front of a full length mirror and had to admit that he was impressed. Hermione had chosen well. He wore a skinny wool blend black jacket and trousers, with a vivid dark green silk shirt that matched his eyes exactly. It was simple, not too overdone, while still making him look clean and dashing. Hermione stood just behind him, tugging here and there, swatting at his hands when he tried to touch anything.

 

“We don’t have time to have them properly tailored so maybe I’ll just…” With a discreet glance around them, she pulled out her wand and waved it at him in some vague motion and Harry felt several bits of fabric adjusting themselves and the entire piece was suddenly much more comfortable.

 

“Wow, thanks.” Harry said, turning this way and that. He tried flattening his hair again.

 

“Don’t, leave it. It makes you look rather roguish, sort of devil may care.” She said, fluttering her hand in the direction of his hair.

 

“Really?” He asked, disbelieving.

 

“Yes, really. Leave it.” She was distracted again tugging at something or other and Harry just stood there and let her, knowing she would do it anyway.

 

Harry paid for his purchase, along with some silk socks and his italian loafers, cringed at the price and tried to remind himself of his vault at Gringotts. They walked up the street until they found an appropriately deserted alley, then Harry sidealonged while Hermione apparated them back to Grimmauld Place.

 

“Now, the dinner begins at seven so we should get there around six thirty. I’ll be at your house at six twenty, be ready to leave when I get there. We can side along from there.” She said briskly, pulling her coat more tightly around her as her bushy hair flew around her face as they stood on his doorstep.

 

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He waved goodbye just before she apparated, and he retreated quickly into the warmth of his house.

 

Draco was dozing in front of the fire in the drawing room, his fat belly glittering in the light.

 

 _“What do you think?”_ Harry asked him, holding the shirt up to his chest for Draco to see. Draco paused and stared at him before finally hissing softly,

 

_“Not that I’m an expert, but I believe you’re supposed to put those gangly things you call arms inside of that and pull it over or something. Doesn’t look like it's doing you much good that way.”_

 

_“Well I’m not wearing it right now you prat, I was asking about the color or just how the shirt looked in general.”_

 

 _“It looks like a bit of cloth to me.”_ Draco sighed, looking away from him.  

 

 _“You’re useless. I don’t know why I keep you around.”_ Harry teased, shoving him with his toe. Draco’s laziness had been utterly false apparently, because quicker than Harry could react, he had himself wrapped around his leg and torso and was sliding his head against the back of Harry’s neck and around to face him.

 

 _“If you were stuck in this house alone you would talk to yourself. At least this way, someone is talking back. Take me to the kitchen and give me some eggs.”_ Draco demanded calmly.

 

 _“Yeah alright, just let me go hang these first.”_ Harry shoved at him and the great snake released him, following him up the stairs and then again down to the kitchen.

 

Harry made himself a cup of tea and tossed a few eggs in the air, watching Draco snatch them up with ease. His thick body was curled up on the table again, Harry had given up on scolding him for it. His copy of the PROPHET with their interview article was still sitting on the table, his and Malfoy’s faces staring up at them.

 

 _“That is you, on this little paper.”_ Draco said, peering down at it.

 

_“Er, yeah.”_

 

 _“Who is this other human?”_ Draco asked, his silvery eyes flicking up to watch Harry.

 

_“That’s Malfoy. We’re kind of working together.”_

 

 _“He’s a rather handsome human.”_ Harry nearly spat out his tea.

 

_“What-since when are you judging which humans are handsome and which are not?”_

 

 _“It’s just an observation. You keep looking at him in this picture. You’ve obviously noticed it too.”_ Harry’s face flushed hotly, he felt certain that Draco was laughing at him somehow.

 

 _“Well, yeah, maybe. I mean, he’s not a bad looking bloke. A bit pointy and- no I’m not talking about this.”_ Harry shook his head, feeling a bit like he couldn’t breathe.

 

_“I can taste your heartbeat, you know. It’s rather fast. Your body temperature has risen.”_

 

 _“Draco! Stop it!”_ Harry stood suddenly, prepared to leave the room and get away from the infuriating animal. His magic fluctuated dangerously, making him feel more agitated.

 

_“I don’t see why you’re getting so worked up about it. It’s only attraction. It’s natural.”_

 

 _“Yeah well he’s a guy, I’m a guy! And he’s, well he’s Malfoy. It would never work- not that I’ve thought about it!”_ Harry huffed, pointing his finger at Draco. He was really regretting how he impulsively named him. “Why are you pushing this anyway?” He asked, heated.

 

_“I was merely curious. You’re always alone.”_

 

 _“I’m not…”_ Harry deflated, _“I’m not always alone. I have Ron and Hermione…”_

 

_“I will not be here forever. You need to find another human so that you’re not alone.”_

 

Harry was left speechless as Draco slithered out of the kitchen, effectively ending the conversation.

 

* * *

 

Hermione was running late. Harry would have been concerned, because she was never late, but Ron had floo called and let him know that she had stayed at work a bit late and would meet him at the Manor.

 

So it was with sweaty palms and many last minute checks in the mirror before Harry arrived at the Manor, a bit late because he had taken his motorcycle. He was sure the ride had not done his hair any good, but per Hermione's advice he had purposefully left it alone.

 

He pulled his bike to a stop near the front entrance, the sound drawing whispers and staring eyes from some of the guests nearby. The garden at the side of the house was decked out in fluttering magical lights, giving the fountains and snow covered shrubbery a warm glow. Music was playing from somewhere, and the low murmur of hundreds of witches and wizards mingling reached his ears as he pushed down the kickstand. He tugged at his suit jacket and hesitated, unsure of whether he should enter the house or walk around to the garden.

 

A soft silver gleam of hair caught his attention near the edge of the crowd and Harry walked slowly towards it, aware of all of the eyes on him. However, as he got closer, he realized that it was not Malfoy, it was Luna Lovegood.

 

Pleasantly surprised, Harry made his way towards her more quickly and tapped her gently on the shoulder.

 

“Harry,” she exclaimed softly, “So lovely to see you.” She hugged him.

 

“It’s been a while. How are you?” He asked.

 

Luna had blossomed. Her thin frame had filled out in all the right places, her eyes glittered happily. Her shimmery blue dress sparkled in the fairy lights, making her look almost like one of the high born ladies that surrounded them. The mismatched earrings gave away her eccentric personality; one was some type of mushroom, the other looked like a hippogriff feather. Harry also caught a glimpse of a small tattoo on the back of her right shoulder, some obscure script that he didn’t recognize.

 

“Quite well. Daddy has retired so I’m running the quibbler. How are you?”

 

“I’m good. Getting used to being back.” Upon closer inspection, he noticed that her dress seemed to me made of scales.

 

“That’s nice. Your aura is dazzling.” She said, watching him with a bemused expression.

 

“Er, thanks?”

 

“I can feel your magic from here. Is it always so wild?”

 

“Excuse me?” Harry asked, suddenly uncomfortable.

 

“It’s exhilarating. It must be hard to control at times. Is that why you went away for a while?” She asked, running her fingers through the air a few inches away from him. Astounded, Harry nodded dumbly.  

 

She was still weirdly caressing the air between them when a tall, dark haired man stepped up to them carrying two champagne flutes.

 

“Oh blimey, you’re Harry Potter. Luna has told me about you, I’m Rolf Scamander, Luna’s husband.” He handed Luna one of the glasses and shook Harry’s hand enthusiastically.

 

“Nice to meet you.” Harry said politely.

 

“And you. Um, thank you. For everything you did. Luna said you were amazing.”

 

Highly uncomfortable now, as these types of things always made him, Harry merely nodded. They were then interrupted by a hush that swept over the crowd. Harry looked up to see Malfoy standing on a raised platform with drink in hand, Zabini by his side.

 

“Don’t they look lovely together?” Luna murmured to Harry. He hated to admit it, but they did. Zabini’s dark skin complimented Malfoy's pale complexion perfectly. They were equal in height, both dressed in their finest, Zabini in black and Malfoy in silver and blue.

 

“I want to thank you all for coming tonight. In just a little while the dining rooms will open. I ask that you choose a seat, read over your menus and make your selections. The galleons you pay for your dinner will fund clothes and food for children, new homes for entire families, school supplies for young witches and wizards, and so much more. We appreciate your donations, and hope that you enjoy your evening.”

 

Harry couldn’t have guessed how Malfoy spotted him in the crowd, but as soon as his short speech was over they made eye contact and Malfoy stepped down and began to walk over to him. He felt frozen standing next to Rolf and Luna, unwilling to escape, but loath to make small talk with Malfoy and Zabini. Before he could make up his mind, he stood in between the four of them.

 

“Scamander.” Malfoy nodded to Luna and Rolf. “Potter. I’m glad you could make it. Did Granger abandon you?” He asked politely.

 

“She’s running a bit late,” Harry explained.

 

“I’m getting another drink,” Zabini said to Malfoy, his low voice smooth and not awkward at all. “Would you like one?”

 

“Yes Blaise, thank you.” Malfoy handed him his empty glass and Zabini wandered off into the crowd, unhurried.

 

“How go your travels?” Malfoy asked, his question directed at Rolf.

 

“Oh, great actually. We’ve found an entire herd of…” Rolfs voice trailed off in Harry’s ears as he went on about some fantastic creature he and Luna had encountered recently. It was obvious that Rolf and Malfoy were well acquainted. Malfoy listened with rapt attention as Rolf enthusiastically explained their adventures. Harry only half listened, scanning the crowd, hoping to see Hermione.

 

“What about you Potter? Did you encounter any interesting beasts during your travels?” Malfoy asked, a strange light dancing in his eyes. Harry found himself unable to look away.

 

“Um.” He faltered, thinking of Draco, “No. Nothing but the usual, I’m afraid.” He smiled, hoping it wasn’t as strained as he felt. He didn’t want to explain Draco to Malfoy and Rolf, not one bit. Malfoy leered a bit then returned his attention to Rolf. Harry let out a heavy breath through his nose.

 

Zabini returned and wordlessly handed Malfoy his champagne, glancing around at the crowd uninterestedly. He seemed a downright bore, Harry noted mulishly.

 

“Potter, would you accompany me for a moment? I’ve something I would like to show you.” Malfoy asked him, once the conversation between him and Rolf had died down. Zabini paid them no attention, but continued to stare off into the distance as though none of them were there.

 

“Uh sure.” Harry said. He said a quick goodbye to Luna and Rolf then followed Malfoy through the crowd, ignoring the whispers bearing his name, and into the house. It was quiet, the people outside could be seen easily through the glass doors, the bright garden illuminating their faces. Inside the house was darker, secluded.

 

“This way,” Malfoy informed him, leading Harry out of the room overlooking the gardens and down a hallway. They entered into another room, lit by soft lamps and filled with various objects, such as a writing desk, a glass case, many shelves, and massive oil painting of-

 

“Professor,” Harry whispered in shock.

 

“Potter.” Snape said, his voice just as oily as Harry remembered. A conflicting mix of emotions overwhelmed Harry, and he was momentarily speechless as he stared into those gleaming black eyes he had never expected to see again. Malfoy's presence had faded behind him, and Harry tried valiantly to work out what he wanted to say.

 

“I never thought… I… It’s good to see you.” He said at last, recovering his confidence.

 

“Is it?”

 

“Yes, sir. I want to thank you, as I never got the chance.” Harry offered.

 

“I see. So I had time to give you the memory?” Snape asked. This portrait must have been made shortly before his death, and it would only have memories from up until that point. Harry nodded respectfully.

 

“Yes sir. So, thank you. And I apologize. For everything.” Harry said. He had spent many nights in his exile thinking of what he would say to those who had been lost, Snape included. Now that it seems he would get the chance, he was determined to make the most of it.

 

“Your apology is accepted. I would like to offer mine as well.” Snape said, his face devoid of emotion.

 

“Of course sir. Thank you.”

 

“Draco tells me that you have allied with him in order to help his organization, and to make a stand against these attacks.” Snape said, black eyes flickering to Malfoy behind him.

 

“Yes sir. We’ve been working surprisingly well together.” Harry said, smiling a bit as he glanced back at Malfoy, who smiled in return as he leaned against the desk.

 

“Who would have thought.” Snape said, his lip curling a bit.

 

“Well now that Potter is done being a giant git,” Malfoy joked, coming up to stand next to him.

 

“Says the world's biggest pointy blond prat-”

 

“Yes, I see you are a perfect example of partnership.” Snape drawled, looking bored.

 

“We’ll be getting back to the party now uncle Severus, sorry for interrupting you.” Malfoy said breezily, waving at him as he strode to the door.

 

“Yes, because as you can see I am extremely busy here. Potter,” Snape called out just as Harry was about to walk through the door. Harry turned expectantly, Snape's face was a curious mix of aloof disinterest and furious focus as he next spoke, “Someone once told me that ‘help can be found in the darkest of places, if one only remembers to turn on the light’. I know what you struggle with. It is possible to overcome and control it. Do not allow someone else to control it for you.”

 

Harry felt the blood drain from his face within seconds as he stared back at Snape. His mouth as dry as sand, he could only nod before he escaped the room and those knowing black eyes.

 

“What did he mean?” Malfoy asked as they were out in the hallway, the door shut behind them.

 

“Nothing.” Harry murmured, feeling sick and refusing to look at Malfoy.

 

“Potter, are you alright?” he asked once they could see the guests through the glass doors. They had stopped, the room was dim. Malfoys silver hair shone like so many strands of silk as he looked at Harry, frowning. It was almost like he genuinely cared.

 

“It was just unsettling is all, seeing him after all this time. But thank you. I appreciate it.” Harry said, trying to smile.

 

“Of course.” But Malfoy didn’t look convinced. “I know we’ve a difficult past but… I am your friend now.” He reached out and put his hand on Harry’s arm lightly, and the touch sent a jolt up Harry’s arm and down into his stomach. “If you need anything, I’m here.” He murmured and Harry’s gaze was caught. He could see his own reflection in Malfoy's eyes, when did he get so close? He nervously licked his lips then regretted it when he watched Malfoy's eyes follow the movement.

 

His hand on Harry’s arm slid gently down until he could feel Malfoy's fingers on his own. That simple touch, skin on skin, made Harry hyper aware of the way his heart was pounding, the way his blood was rushing through his veins. He found that their fingers wound together slowly, and he could feel Malfoy's breath on his lips. He smelled of champagne and spice and some kind of masculine aftershave that was alien and incredibly appealing. Their faces were only inches apart and suddenly Harry wanted nothing more than to-

 

Someone screamed. Harry and Malfoy jerked apart, looking anxiously out the glass doors. Another scream, people started running to and fro in panic. They two of them bolted for the door and rushed out into the garden, trying to make sense of the mayhem. Zabini appeared before them- _Malfoys boyfriend, merlin, Harry had just nearly kissed Malfoy-_

 

“They’re here,” Zabini said, and Harry suddenly understood.

 

“Blaise, find mother!” Draco said urgently, his eyes searching anxiously. Blaise obeyed immediately and escaped into the crowd.

 

Curses were flying everywhere, the night was lit up with the flashes of their light. One wizard was suspended in midair like those muggles had been at the quidditch world cup all those years ago. Another scream and people shoved past them trying to get away.

 

Harry ran forward, weaving between people and fighting his way to the source of the panic. He could feel Malfoy and Zabini right behind him.

 

“Harry!” Hermione’s shout made it’s way to his ears and he began to search for her frantically. What if they hurt her? She was muggleborn, he had to get to her-

 

But wait, they weren’t after muggleborns, they were after-

 

“Malfoy!” Harry turned and they nearly collided, Malfoy was so close. “Malfoy you have to get inside, they’re here for death eaters-”

 

“Are you insane Potter?! Get out of the way!” Malfoy snarled, and ran past him.

 

“Dammit!” Harry cursed, and followed him.

 

Finally the bodies cleared and Harry could see them.

 

There were six of them, all in dark blue cloaks, their faces covered in white masks. The feeling of familiarity made him sick. They were upturned tables, smashing fountains, setting fire to the hedges. There were bodies lying around, Harry hoped desperately that they were only stunned.

 

“Harry!” He heard Hermione again and then saw her, fighting at the edge of the crowd on the other side of the War Council.

 

“Hermione!” He yelled, and began to run around the circle that had formed in order to get to her. She had her wand raised, throwing shield charms in every direction. Someone near her fell and she knelt down to try to help them up.

 

“I’ve sent Ron a message,” She told him when he reached her, her face red and her beautifully styled hair falling down.  

 

“Harry Potter!” One of the six shouted, in a voice Harry didn’t recognize. He looked at them, one had turned to face him as the rest continued their assault. He could see Malfoy at the edge of the circle opposite him, just behind the masked wizard who had spoken. “You were once our Savior, and now you’re one of _them_.” The voice spat.

 

There was mayhem around them, witches and wizards had taken out their wands to fight but the six were fighting back viciously. Half of the garden was on fire, the heat was melting the snow around them. Everything was wet and the air smelt burnt.

 

“This night is a message to you Potter. Join us. All those who ally with the ones with the mark shall be subject to our judgment. Join us and be spared.” Harry stared at the masked man, and glanced beyond to Malfoy, who’s eyes were wide with fear and bright with the light from the flames.

 

“I won’t. I won’t join terrorists. I will not bow down to anyone who thinks it their right to attack innocents.” Harry said, loud enough for all around them to hear. Hermione stood behind him, her fingers clutching his suit jacket.

 

People around them were still trying to escape, tripping over bodies sending curses over their shoulders. Spells and shouts were erupting around them all, and Harry heard the wizards response,

“Then be judged.”

 

He hurled a curse in Harry’s direction. Harry threw his hands in the air, palms forward and fingers splayed and light burst in front of him, shielding him and those around him. The curse collided with his shield loudly, and then another.

 

“We have to go on the offensive Harry! Ron and the aurors will be here soon, but we have to stop them from attacking all of these people. When I say, lower your shield.” Hermione told him desperately, he gritted his teeth and nodded.  “Now!”

 

And it began. Harry had not dueled anyone since his fight with voldemort, he had not unleashed his magic in such a capacity. He let it out then, feeling it lash out angrily as he sent spell after spell towards the six masked people in front of them. Hermione was sending more shield charms, trying to block innocents, sending tripping jinxing, stunners, anything to interrupt or occupy their assailants. Harry could see Malfoy with his wand out, casting madly with Mrs. Malfoy and Zabini at his side. Others had joined the fight as well, and Harry began to move forward, sending magic out with both hands, blocking and returning curses. He managed to his one of the masked people, a witch, judging by her scream. She fell to the ground.

 

Harry’s magic was beginning to get out of control, it burned through his body like it had a mind of his own, and curses left his fingers that he didn’t actively cast. Another of the six went down, blood spilling from the bottom of his mask at a dangerous rate.

 

And then Ron was there next to him, red robed aurors were bursting from the crowd, shouting and coordinating. The four remaining attackers closed in on each other, and Harry realized what they were about to do seconds before they did it. Two of them grabbed their downed comrades with their wandless hands, and the four of them apparated.

 

The spell casting stopped and the gardens were left eerily silent, people looking around in fear and confusion before more yelling started. Witches and wizards began calling out for their friends and dates frantically, many swooped down to inspect those lying lifelessly on the ground. Harry saw Luna leaned over Rolf, her hands on his face.

 

“Harry,” Hermione began.

 

“We’ve got to help.” Harry said, moving forward and spotting Malfoy before he had even realized he was looking for him. Sharp relief ran through him when he saw that Malfoy was standing, looking unhurt. They made eye contact and Malfoy started towards them.

 

“Harry, please,” Hermione said, tugging at him.

 

“What?” Harry responded, not looking at her. His eyes were set on Malfoy.

 

“I have to tell you something, it’s important.” She pleaded.

 

“What is it?” He asked, finally turning to look at her.

 

“I was late because I had finally gotten past security and into the archives-”

 

“Can’t we talk about work later?” Harry asked, exasperated as he turned back to Malfoy, who was shoving people aside as was nearly to them.

 

“No, it can’t,” She started desperately, “Harry I was looking through the list of registered animagus and Malfoy was on the list.”

 

“What?” He said, not understanding.

 

“Harry, he’s on the list. He’s a snake. He’s a _big white snake_.”

 

And then it clicked.

 

Malfoy was an animagus. He was a snake. He was Harry’s snake. Malfoy was Draco. _Harry’s Draco._

 

No, it couldn’t be true. No.

 

He looked from Hermione’s anxious face to Malfoy, who had slowed, looking between them with slowly growing horror. Harry shook his head at him mutely, and Malofy began to move towards them with more urgency.

 

No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t face Malfoy right now. He had to leave, he had to-

 

“Go, I’ll cover for you. Harry, _go_.” Hermione whispered to him, and he didn’t need to be told twice. He took a few steps back, eyes still on Malfoy's anxious, pleading face.

 

He gathered his wild magic and took the chance.

 

He apparated.

 

* * *

 

 

Potter knew.

Bloody Granger, she had told him. She had found out, and she had told him. Draco didn’t even get time to explain, not even to that interfering woman, because the ministry workers were there and asking him questions and there was a mess to clean up and Draco had to put his crisis to the side and _deal with this._

 

So for the next few hours, Draco did. He repeated his story seven times, he answered all the questions with forced calm, he apologized, he groveled, he grit his teeth and bore it.

 

When it was all done and the people were gone, Draco made his excuses to Blaise and enclosed himself in his study. He took a few moments to calm himself, preparing for the ordeal that he knew was to come.

 

He apparated to Potters back garden. He was unable to enter in his human body, so he transfigured into the snake once more and made his way into the house that had become so familiar to him.

 

Once inside, he transfigured back and adjusted his clothes, then made his way slowly up the stairs. His heart beat hard in his chest, his hands shook so he balled his fists tightly. There was firelight coming from the drawing room, and it made sense to Draco that Harry would be there. His footsteps made no noise as he warily entered the room, but Potter would know he was there. He always knew.

 

“It was you. The whole time.” He whispered, his back to Draco as he stood in front of the tall fireplace, staring at the flames. He had removed his jacket, the dark green silk of his shirt was wrinkled and his hair was more terrible than ever, as if he had been tugging at it.

 

“Yes,” Draco agreed, swallowing nervously. He could feel the heat of Potter's magic simmering, making the fire in the grate feel more like a matchstick.

 

“You lied to me.” Potter whispered. “I trusted you, I… told you things. I… you slept in my bed. I let my guard down around you. And you lied to me.”

 

Pain and guilt blossomed in his stomach upon hearing the obvious hurt in Potter’s voice, though Draco knew he had tried to hide it. He wrung his hands in front of him, hating himself for not telling Potter the truth himself. Perhaps he would have still been angry, but at least it would have come from Draco.

 

But now he had let everything fall to ruin. He could feel all of their possibilities slipping away, all the things that might of been. Their almost kiss only hours before, the tentative touch of fingers, the way Potter’s eyes lit with some secret magic when they met Draco’s.

 

Draco desperately wished he would turn around so that he could see his face, to _explain_ . “Yes, I did. But you have to understand… I can explain. _Harry please,_ ”

 

And that did it. Potter exploded. His magic lashed out with such force that all of the furniture in the room flew back, crashing against the walls. Books fell, glass shattered. Draco was thrown onto his back, and Potter had turned to look at him, framed by the light of the flames in a shockingly similar vision.

 

It was as though Draco was again bowed before the Dark Lord, and the look of disgust on Potter's face cinched it.

 

“I don’t want your lies! I don’t want your explanations! You traitorous snake, I trusted you! I trusted you and I even started to-” Potter choked off the words he was about to say. “Get out.” He hissed. “Get out. I’ll honor my commitment to your charity, but I never want to see your face again outside of our arrangement. Get out. Don’t ever come back here.” His magic seethed around him, leaving Draco terrified on the floor. Terrified and _livid._

 

He stood slowly, carefully, watching Potter's dark face, disturbed by the similarities between him and the Dark Lord. Burning with fear and indignation, he stood straight before bowing slowly and saying, so mockingly,

 

“Yes, my _Lord_.”

 

He may as well have slapped Potter across the face, because he recoiled to the same effect. Draco didn’t give him a chance to respond. He fled the drawing room, and the house.

  
He apparated home and shut himself up in his room, fell back against the door and slid down until he was a crumpled heap on the floor. Only then did he allow his old fears to surface fully. Sickeningly familiar feelings of self hatred and hopelessness overwhelmed him. He did what he had done so often, all those years ago. He drew tightly in on himself, and he cried.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: My fellow fanfic enthusiasts, I have a request. There is a series of books called The Captive Prince. Please... PLEASE GO LOOK INTO THIS. The author is C. S. Pacat. If you, like me, love your boy on boy fanfics, you will love these books. Please support this author. There are three books in the series, you can get them on amazon for around 30$. If you can spare the money, buy them. And tell your friends. The more notoriety, the better. We need more of these types of stories to be published! You won't regret it! Thank you. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so late, i'm a terrible person please forgive me.

 

**Part Three**

 

“Harry James Potter, you will get dressed and leave this house and come to dinner at the Burrow or I will hex you into next week.” Hermione’s scolding woke him from his nap, he was sprawled across the broken sofa in his drawing room. He had been unable to face his bed upstairs and had practically lived on the lopsided cushions for nearly two weeks, surviving on tea and toast.

But it wasn’t just he-who-had-slytherin’d his way into Harry’s life that had him hiding away from the world. It was also the PROPHET.

Bit’s of said newspaper littered the room around him, along with empty tea-cups and bits of stale toast, boasting headlines such as;

**THE BOY WHO LIVED: SAVIOR OR NEW DARK WIZARD?**

**ATTACK ON THE MALFOY’S: POTTER DISPLAYS WANDLESS MAGIC**

**WHERE HAS THE CHOSEN ONES NEW POWER COME FROM AND**  
**WHERE HAS HE BEEN ALL THIS TIME?**

Harry wasn’t surprised that his secret had been exposed, it was bound to happen sooner or later. But it didn't have to happen in such a devastating way. Now everyone thought he was the next Voldemort. This, on top of the loss of his foe who turned friend who turned foe, had left him with an utter lack of desire to leave his house. Which was why Hermione was standing over him, hands on her hips and mouth set in a scowl to rival Mrs. Weasley’s.

“We are having dinner tonight and we expect you there. If you are not there promptly at six then I shall have to gather up all of the Weasley children and we will storm this house and drag you out by your toenails.” She said, waving her wand at him threateningly.

“Yeah ‘Mione, alright. I’ll be there.” He mumbled, wiping his eyes under his crooked glasses.

“Good. Because I mean it Harry, I will unleash them in here. Ginny in particular has been itching to do you a nice bat bogey hex.” Harry groaned. “That’s the spirit.” She chirped.

“Really,” she continued, looking around the wreck that was his drawing room, “I can’t believe you’re letting it stay in this state. I could clear this up you know.” She offered, looking around at the aftermath of his fight with Malfoy.

“No. Leave it.” Harry said, sitting up groggily. He wasn’t ready for the room to be what it was during all those late nights where he had bickered and confided in Malfoy. It was better this way, for now. The broken room reflected his broken self.

“If you’re sure.” She sighed. Harry merely nodded.

“Well I’ll leave you to shower,” She said, a not quite subtle hint, “and I’ll see you tonight.” She didn’t hug him, another not so subtle hint, but waved goodbye before she let herself out.

Harry heaved himself off of the sofa and meandered his way upstairs slowly. One long hot shower later he was feeling decidedly more awake. He made his way downstairs and, again, ignored the empty space on the table where Draco used to sit while he made a cup of tea.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. It unnerved him. He hated the silence. He had lived alone in the silence for so long and it had never bothered him, in fact he had come to appreciate it. But then that stupid slimy git had to come and ruin it all with his questions and his dry humor and his nagging companionship. And now that was gone, and Harry had never realized how attached he had become until he was no longer there.

Even worse, was that Harry missed Malfoy. Not the snake part, but the human part. The man who had become his friend. He missed the way he looked when his skin was flushed and his hair covered in snow. He missed his ridiculous suits and gorgeous hair. His missed his stupid pointy face. And he missed the intriguing possibility of what could have been.

But Malfoy had tricked him and lied to him, and that was just not on. So Harry would put him out of his mind, he would ignore the pangs of loneliness and try for a fresh start.

The first step in his fresh start was getting out of the bloody house. Harry finished his tea and set his mug in the sink before heading upstairs to the drawing room, determinately not thinking of his motorcycle, which was still parked at the Manor.

One quick trip through the floo later he was stepping out into the Weasley’s cluttered living room and into the chaos of the Burrow on a Saturday. He narrowly avoided Pig as he zoomed through the room, away from a particularly feisty Crookshanks. The room was so crowded, Harry suspected that if had charmed his hair red no one would have noticed he had arrived.

“Harry! You’re early, excellent. Mum’s been harping about getting me to de-weed and de-gnome the garden again, she wants it _pretty_ for my birthday. Honestly, it’s an entire month away!” Ron huffed, pulling him along through the kitchen and out the back door. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.” Ron murmured as they left hearing range of the house, though that didn’t stop him from glancing back nervously. Harry watched as he pulled a small box out of his pocket, angling it so that if anyone was peering out the windows it was hiding on the other side of his body.

Harry raised his eyes to his best friends face, seeing the blush inflame his cheeks.

“I dunno what to say. It’s a bit sudden, mate. Can I have some time to think about it?”

“Shut up, git. Do you think she’ll like it?” Ron whispered, glancing at the house again as he flipped open the lid. Nestled inside, in little folds of white silk, was a delicate gold ring with a single, small but respectable white diamond.

“She’ll love it.” Harry grinned. Ron sighed, visibly relieved before he snapped the lid shut and hastily stuffed it back into his pocket.

“I’ve been saving for almost a year, it’s hard when she’s always checking our gold. Mad woman.” He said fondly. “I haven’t told anyone else. I didn’t want mum to try to make me give her great aunt Muriel’s gaudy old ring. I’m thinking of proposing on my birthday. Mum’s planning a big party and everyone will be here so it seem’s like a good opportunity, you know? What do you think?”

Ron’s freckled face looked at him anxiously, his fingers hovering over his pocket. Harry suspected that Hermione might enjoy a more private proposal than that, but Ron had grown up surrounded by his family so Harry supposed that it only felt right to him to have everyone included. Hermione could take more control with the wedding anyway. And really, how could he destroy the hope on his best friends face?

“I think that’s a great idea. You’ve got a month to gather up the nerve.” Harry laughed, slapping him on the arm.

“You’re not bloody kidding.” Ron managed, taking a deep breath. Harry laughed again. “So how are you doing, really?”

“Better. Pissed off, but better. I… he lied to me for weeks, you know? _He slept in my bed_.” Harry said, his voice tight. Ron must have interpreted his strangled tone for something other than what it was, because he nodded like he understood.

“Yeah, been there, done that. Remember Pettigrew? _Years_. You’ll get through it.” Ron nudged him and Harry simply nodded.

They got to work on the garden, pulling up nasty weeds and mean little gnomes and tossing them over the fence after swinging them in a circle for a good bit. They chatted amiably while they worked, Harry was grateful for the distraction, if a bit shocked. Ron and Hermione were going to get _married._

It’s not like he hadn’t known it was coming, he was actually surprised it had taken Ron this long. But it reaffirmed the notion that Harry was still alone. He was twenty two years old, and he was alone. He’d only had sex once for merlin's sake, and it had mostly been an awkward disaster. Of course, Ginny had been a gem about it, but still. Ron exclaimed loudly when a gnome bit him on the finger and Harry hastily put those thoughts out of his mind before Ron somehow read them on his face.

Why was it that the thought of relationships made him feel so awkward? Yeah, he had kind of skipped that stage of his teenage years, what with being hunted by a dark lord and fighting a war and all, but he was an adult now. Wasn’t he supposed to have grown out of his ineptitude and magically gained knowledge on how to get girls? Or, bloody hell, might as well be honest with himself, guys?

For the hundredth time, Harry thought of Malfoy and their almost kiss. So he was probably attracted to blokes too, so what. Surely people in the wizarding world were more accepting than his aunt and uncle had been. He was fairly positive that Ron and Hermione would think no differently of him. Now, if he mentioned his attraction to _Malfoy_ , well. That would be a different story.

Not that he would ever tell them, because it didn’t matter. Malfoy was a liar and an all around terrible person who had hated him from the start. That didn’t seem like sound relationship material to Harry. No matter how attractive he may find the pointy bastard.

No, his best option would be to just… get out and meet people. He felt queasy just thinking about it, and briefly considered spending his life alone just so that he wouldn’t have to deal with any of it. But he didn’t really want that. He wanted to share his life with someone. He hadn’t died and come back just to spend all all these Weasley dinners as the odd man out.

Harry almost asked Ron how and where to go to get into the, ugh, dating scene, but he chickened out and stayed silent. He could ask him another time, after all.

They finished with the garden after a couple of hours and returned to the house red faced with numb fingers from the lingering snow. Hermione had arrived at that point, and Harry spent the rest of the evening with his family, forgetting his troubles and loneliness and dodging the looks she sent his way. He could feel her questions, but he wanted to put that conversation off for as long as possible. He wasn’t looking forward to lying to her.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco felt the gentle press of lips against his neck. At an earlier point in his life, it would have been a lovely way for Blaise to wake him up. Now he wanted to swat away the touch like he would a fly.

“You’re here early.” He grumbled, not caring that the displeasure in his tone was quite obvious.

“I have an early portkey. I came to say goodbye. I have thirty minutes.” Blaise’s low voice rumbled, to no effect.

“That will have to wait until you come back. I have an appointment this morning.”

“You don’t even know what time it is.”

“Not today, Blaise.” Draco bit out, not yet bothering to open his eyes.

“I’ll see you in a week then.” Blaise said, and Draco was sure no one else would have noticed the ice that had crept into his voice. He remained silent and still until he felt the door to his chambers open and shut a little too sharply. For someone who wanted no attachments, the man sometimes got annoyingly emotional.

Draco considered going back to sleep, but he did have an appointment that morning. Grumbling, he rose from bed and pulled a blue silk robe over his naked body, tying a loose knot around his waist. His ensuite was a bright room, mirrors covering the walls and reflecting light. Draco was not a morning person and had always hated it upon first waking, but was grateful later in the day when he needed to see himself from every angle. Perfection was work, and attention.

Though, he was far from perfection at that moment. His usually smooth hair was tangled and dull, his eyes dark and hooded. He had been moping, of course, no point in denying it.

Snorting at the mirror with part disgust, part defiance, he turned and rotated the shower knobs until the water was steaming. He dropped the silk onto the floor carelessly and stepped inside, sighing as the hot water beat at his head and shoulders. His cock hung twitching between his legs, still heavy from sleep. He refused to touch himself.

He was still so angry. Angry at Potter for his outburst, angry at his mother for sending him to Potter in the first place, angry at Blaise for being useless at distracting him from Potter, and angry at himself for being angry at all.

So what if Potter wanted nothing to do with him? That classless scrawny git was nothing special anyway. Draco had gotten along just fine without him for years, and he would continue to do so. He had his work, he had Blaise if he needed any physical stimulation, he had money, he didn’t need anything else.

So what if the warm thrum of possibility that always hung between them was no more, so what if he couldn’t rid himself of the memory of Potter’s parted lips and green eyes bright below the fairy lights. So what if he tortured himself with ‘what ifs’.

_So what if he couldn’t bloody forget the man?_

Draco wanted nothing more than to put Potter out of his mind and get on with his life. He had been trying for days, but he couldn’t. He _wanted_ him, in a way that he had never wanted Blaise or anyone else. He wanted him naked and thrusting and panting, yes, but he also wanted him laughing in the snow and grinning over tea and whispering secrets in the dark. And he had buggered it all up.

_And he hated himself for it._

He hadn’t felt so miserable in years, and he couldn’t shake it. He couldn’t shake Potter. He desired him. And what happens when a Malfoy desires something? They bloody well get it.

With his new fierce determination, Draco scrubbed the grime and negativity off of his body until he was once again gleaming and dressed meticulously. He smoothed and dried his hair and shaved the stubble from his face, slipped into his shining black shoes and went downstairs for tea. He had plans to make, and a Gryffindor to win over, all over again.

 

* * *

 

 

_Breathe._

Harry felt his chest expand as he slowly pulled in air through his nose, it smelled wrong. It smelled of cold and frozen things, and not the heat and dust and burning wood that he had grown accustomed to. His small backyard garden was much different from the cozy warmth of his drawing room. But that room felt wrong. Empty.

It was dusk, and silent minus the distant sound of traffic somewhere in a busier place. He sat, legs folded over each other on the stone, back straight and shoulders relaxed. Breathing. Centering his raging emotions.

That look on Malfoy's face haunted him mercilessly.

Perfect blond hair disheveled by his fall, one hand back to hold himself off of the floor, one held palm up between him and Harry, a barrier. His pointy face even whiter than usual, the blood drained from his cheeks, eye’s wide for just a moment before narrowing in what could only have been hate and fear.

Harry ached over it. The words, most of all.

_“Yes, my Lord.”_

_No… not that… I’m not…_

He _wasn’t_. He wasn’t dark. He had done what he had to do, to break the cycle of the elder wand. To make sure that no one would ever again abuse it’s power. He hadn’t planned to absorb it. It wasn’t his fault…

He was doing everything he could to control it, to hold it in. And he had been doing fine… until Draco bloody Malfoy.

Malfoy smiling sweetly at little Mia, Malfoy with snow in his hair, face flushed. Standing straight and perfect in his ridiculous suits, silver blond hair falling around his face. Gently touching Harry’s hand, framed by glittering windows, his lips so close…

On the floor, hurt and terrified.

_Breathe._

His guilt over the outburst was at war with his anger over Malfoy’s betrayal. His chest constricted, the bare limbs of an old oak tree swayed gently in the flurry of his agony. It whipped through the air around him, loose and wild. Harry struggled to bring it back under control. Meditation had gotten much harder since that night.

Once the air was still, he breathed in and out again, calming the magic inside of him. And tried not to think of Malfoy. He shoved the ache deep down into the pit of his stomach, where it sat simmering. Under control, but not forgotten.

Once he was sure thoughts of Malfoy would stay down where he had put them, he slowly began again, releasing his magic and letting it breathe, letting it whip through the air around him. The magic was power, flexing and expanding, connected to him and his emotions. It blew through his hair again and he shivered.

He tugged at it gently, pulling it back in with an ease born through years of practice. Once it was contained, Harry opened his eyes, exhaling warm air into a small fog around his face. It was full night, stars winking slyly at him from above. He took a moment to enjoy it, trying to ignore the persistent squirming in his stomach.

He stood, back and knees cracking in protest after sitting on the flagged stone for so long, then turned to head inside. A cup of tea was in order, then another night of restless sleep, full of nightmares.

 

* * *

 

 

“I have to ask Harry, is there any truth to the PROPHETS accusations?” Harry sighed at the wary expression on Andromeda’s face. He couldn’t blame her, considering all the nasty things the PROPHET had been saying. She had to think of Teddy’s safety, after all. No competent grandmother would allow a ‘rising dark wizard, wielding lethal and uncontrollable wandless and wordless magic’ around her grandson.

He glanced past her to the windows overlooking their back garden where Teddy was zooming around on a child's sized broom, giggling gleefully as he chased after Harry’s golden snitch. Andromeda’s hands were knotted tightly in her lap on the other side of the coffee table, the tension in her shoulder’s obvious. Harry struggled with the realization that she was _afraid_ of him.

“Andromeda I’m not dangerous, I would never-” his voice caught, “I would _never_ hurt Teddy, or anyone else.” He professed.

“I’m inclined to believe you, Mr Potter. But you haven’t answered my question.” Though her fingers clasped each other nervously, her face was hard and unyielding.

“I… the war changed me. My magic is… Sometimes I have trouble… with control. But i’m not dangerous to Teddy, I swear. What happened that night at the Malfoy Manor was only because we were attacked and there were so many of them at once, i just… I couldn’t reign it in. I had to save those people. I’m not dark, Andromeda. I wish I could tell you more. But there are secrets about Voldemort and his defeat that I have to take to my grave, else I put people in danger.” Harry offered, nearly pleading. Her mouth was grim, her eyes fixed on him intensely.

“This is why you went away?” She asked. Harry nodded.

“I had to learn to control it. For the most part, I can.” They were both silent for a moment as she watched him shrewdly.

“Well,” she began briskly, “Thank you for telling me the truth.”

“So… will I still be able to come visit Teddy?” Harry asked.

“Yes, I believe so. I doubt I could put a stop to it either way. After your last visit, I wouldn’t put it passed him to travel to london on his own and hunt you down.”

Harry smiled and looked out the window again, just in time to see the boy grab at the snitch and miss, his face scrunched up in concentration. “He’s not a bad flyer.” He said.

“‘Not bad’ isn’t quite how I would put it. I’ve seen that child crash into every imaginable surface. His coordination is terrible.” She deadpanned, as Teddy nearly fell face first off of the broom just out of the window behind her. Harry bit back a smile.

“Nothing a bit of practice can’t fix.”

 

Harry sat, ducked down in Ron’s cubicle, spinning around in his partner's vacated desk chair. Ron was grumbling over paperwork, in a terrible mood. The PROPHET sat on the edge of his desk, it’s front page covered with a picture of a scowling elderly woman.

**MATILDA ROWLE VANISHES, HOUSE BLOWN APART**

**Mrs. Rowle was well known as mother to Thorfinn Rowle,**  
**ex-death eater who died in Azkaban just two years ago.**  
**Her family home was found blown apart late yesterday**  
**evening, Mrs. Rowle has not yet been found. Aurors were**  
**unavailable for comment, but rumors suspect**  
**WAR COUNCIL involvement. Mrs. Rowle’s neighbor, Mrs.**  
**Coulson, gave a short interview in which she-**

“I’ve been up all bloody night and we haven’t found a thing. Our tracers came back empty, no one knows what the hell is going on or why our curse alarms aren’t going off. It’s a bloody nightmare Harry.” Ron said, running his hands over his face and through his hair.

“I don’t get it though. What’s their aim? I mean, if they’re going after ex-death eaters… some old woman whose only connection is her dead son?” Harry asked, frowning.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I hate to say it but… I think we should start testing our aurors.” Ron murmured, leaning in closer to Harry conspiritally.

“Testing for what?” Harry asked, lowering his voice as well.

“I’m not sure. But I’m almost positive now, they’ve got someone inside the ministry. That’s the only explanation I can think of, of why they’re always one step ahead.” He shrugs, leaning back and staring at his desk, tired eyes unseeing.

It occurs to Harry that Ron is very good at his job. It suits him. The deep burgundy of his Auror robes don’t suit his complexion very well, but he is so obviously in his element that Harry is momentarily saddened by his decision to pass up on the offer to join the auror department alongside him.

But, then again, if Harry had joined too then perhaps Ron would not have flourished as he did. Here, he wasn’t stuck in Harry’s shadow. The thought is sobering.

“Ah, Mr. Potter! I had wondered if I would ever have the honor.” Harry turns to see Ron’s partner, Neil Petterson. He was an older man, grey haired with wide shoulders and a friendly face. Harry stood to shake his hand, a bit awkwardly. He always hated this type of stuff. “I’ve heard many great things, Mr. Potter. It’s a pleasure.”

“Thanks,” Harry stumbled, face warm.

“Back from lunch then? Bring me anything?” Ron asked, messy red head jutting out from behind Harry to search Petterson’s person.  
“Roast beef with cheddar?” Petterson asked, glancing down into the brown paper bag in his hands.

“Brilliant.” Ron said, holding out his hand eagerly.

Harry said his goodbyes while Ron began shoveling food in his mouth, and made his way quietly out of the ministry with his head down. As he stepped out onto the sidewalk, a tall dark figure caught his eye.

Blaise Zabini was standing out on the sidewalk, looking slim and regal, carelessly holding a cigarette between his lips. Harry stared at him for a moment, sullenly hating everything about him. Had he come from Malfoy’s bed this morning? Wrapped up in silk sheets, Zabini’s dark skin a perfect compliment to Malfoys paleness? They certainly fit each other. Well bred and snobby, slytherin bastards. So what if Zabini was with Malfoy? Harry was better off staying away from both of them. Right.

The weather, like his mood, had taken a turn. Dark clouds threatened rain as he made his way towards the Leaky Cauldron.

Diagon Alley was somewhat different than he remembered, though it’s essence remained the same. Ollivanders was gone, but Quality Quidditch Supplies was still going strong. Harry had chosen to come on a Tuesday, with the hope that it wouldn’t be too crowded. Though perhaps he should have gone during the weekend, because then at least he could try to blend in.

There were a few other witches and wizards meandering around the shop, and Harry adamantly avoided eye contact of any kind as he made his way to the section of children’s brooms. Teddy’s broom had been an older model, known for its unreliability when steering. WIth any luck, that would account for his terrible aim. Harry wanted to buy his godson a new broom, after acquiring Andromeda’s permission, of course.

The miniature brooms were quite cute, and fun to look at. They were also quite expensive. Harry grimaced when glancing at the price tag of one of the pricier models. Who would pay this much for a broom that a kid would outgrow in just a few years?

Well, Harry Potter of course. His godson would have the best damn broom that galleons could buy. He deserved nothing less. It wasn’t like Harry was doing anything else with his gold, after all.

But wait a moment, that wasn’t true. He was supposed to donate to Malfoy's charity. It had never been explicitly stated, but Harry had wanted to. He still wanted to. He just didn’t want to have to see Malfoy’s face to do it. He was distracted enough by this thought that he didn’t notice the older wizard who had come up to him.

“Anything I can help you with sir?” The man asked. He was wearing neat robes with QQS embroidered on the front.

“Um, yes actually. I want to buy a new broom for my godson. He’s five.” Harry said, gesturing nervously to the broom selection in front of them.

“Well, the Dragon Wing is the latest model, tested by some of the best quidditch players in the world. It’s a french broom, with speeds of up to…” Harry had been nodding along and glanced to the man when he left off. His old brown eyes were fixed on the scar, mouth slightly agape.

“Ah, I’m sorry sir. I just want to buy a broom.” Harry murmured, afraid of a negative reaction, due to the stupid PROPHET. The older man snapped to attention, jerking his gaze back to the brooms, hands fidgeting and gesturing nervously. Harry clamped his teeth together.

“Well yes, the Dragon Wing is our best, no doubt. If you’re looking for something a bit less expensive, I recommend-”

“The Dragon Wing is fine, thank you. I’ll take it.”

“Of course sir. I’ll just need your godsons measurements and I can send off an order right away.”

Harry hesitated, then held his hand up to his midsection.

“He’s about this tall.” He offered, straining to smile.

“Right, sir.” The man said, his gaze flickering up to the scar and away again.

 

Harry suffered through ten more minutes, aware that he was starting to attract more attention as he stood at the front counter, filling out an order form for Teddy’s new broom. He paid for the order and asked for it to be owled to his residence, reluctant to have to visit the shop again anytime soon.

The air out on the street was cold and blustery, and getting darker by the minute. Harry wrapped his coat around himself more tightly, pulling at the ends of his scarf as it tried to come loose. He kept his head down as he strolled up the street, and nearly missed the sign over one of the shop doors that said Magical Menegerie.

Harry paused outside the shop, debating. He did sorely need an owl…

A bell chimed softly as he opened the door, grimacing at the smell. He was met by a flustered man in white splattered robs, who was yelling loudly at someone near the back of the store.

“And stay out of the rat bin too, ya great cursed beast!” Harry was overcome with a certain fondness, as the man reminded him of Hagrid, in that he was covered in hair. Most of it was pulled back into a wiry bun atop his head, frazzled strands poking out every which way. “Can I help ye sir?” He asked, squinting at Harry.

“Ah I was just looking. I’m thinking of getting an owl.” Harry offered, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing around.

“Got plenty of ‘em. Have a look around and let me know if ya see anythin’ ya like.” He clumped unhappily to the register and began rummaging through drawers, and Harry decided he liked the man even more.

The shop was quite full, and Harry’s looks were returned by many pairs of eyes, blinking at him eerily. But it was not only owls that watched him and he strolled through the isles. There were cats, puffskins, hinkypunks, kneazles, and _snakes._

Harry halted, staring at the glass cabinets full of warmly lit scales of all colors and sizes. He felt simultaneously nauseous and heartsick.

Before he could make himself move, a flurry of movement and feathers brushed passed him, accompanied by a loud screech. One of the owls had flung itself at the snake enclosures, claws scratching the glass as it cried out angrily.

The snakes hissed and struck at the glass in return, their many voices overwhelming Harry so much that he had to brace himself on a nearby shelf. The black owl continued to fling itself at the glass, feathers flying everywhere, the shop was loud with the sound of upset animals.

“Damn hateful bird!” Harry heard the man yell, and he came stomping angrily down the aisle, arms flying about as he tried to shoo the owl away in a manner that suggested it was not his first time to do so. The owl retreated, landing on top of a nearby shelf and letting out a low hiss, staring down at them. It was a large barn owl, glossy black with oil-like hints of green and specks of white. Its large angular eyes were solid black and strangely knowing.

“Never in my twenty seven years have a seen such cursed creature as you!” The man yelled at the owl, waving his finger up at it threateningly.

“What was it doing?” Harry asked, still staring up at it. He had to focus hard to tune out the hissing voices, so many voices.

“Trying to get at the snakes. The damn thing has already killed three of them, and it’s only been here a week! I’m losing money at this rate, and I’m nearly ready to send it back to wherever it came from, fees be damned!” He yelled the last bit up at the owl, who fluffed out its expansive wings and screeched haughtily. It stared down it’s beak at Harry, who was suddenly fascinated.

“It’s attacking the snakes?” He asked, amazed.

“Yeah he is. “Ain’t afraid o’ nuthin, this one, least of all me. And keeps lettin ‘imself outta his cage. He’s picked through every lock i’ve put on it, even them magical ones.” The man grumbled, gesturing at the cages around them. “He’s more trouble than ‘e’s worth, even being his color and whatnot.”

Harry blinked, trying to tune out the voices. He stared up at the spectacular creature and smiled.

“I’ll take him.” He said.

“You’ll what now? Him?” The man pointed up at the owl and squinted at Harry, mouth agape.

“Yes sir. I’ll take him.” He said, shoving his hands in his pockets and smiling.

“Well if you insist. I ain’t gonna complain, mind. Devil bird is driving me right crazy.”

Harry followed him to the front of the store and denied the man's suggestion that he buy a cage, but asked for a sturdy oak bird stand instead. If the owl didn’t like to be confined, Harry wouldn’t force it on him. He handed over his galleons happily and took the bag with a thanks, and was surprised when the owl fluttered down onto his shoulder.

“You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” Harry asked it. It merely glared at him with its black eyes.

“Yeah he’s smart, ‘probly not a good thing in his case.” The man behind the counter grumbled darkly. Harry smiled blandly, amazed at all of the conversations going on in the back of the shop that no one but him could hear. The voices were making him unsteady, and incredibly sad. He left the shop as quickly as he could.

 

The owl sat silently on his shoulder the entire trip back to Grimmauld Place. As soon as Harry stepped passed the wards and into the entryway, the owl took flight and landed on the banister next to the stairs. It’s head swiveled this way and that, taking in the interior of the house.

“Well, this is it. Home sweet home.” Harry murmured, vividly reminded of bringing Draco home for the first time. Another pang of hurtful longing assaulted him, and he cleared his throat. “Come on, we’ll set you up in the drawing room.” He barked out a laugh and added, “You’ll match the decor.”

The owl followed him up the stairs and passed Harry, who paused in the doorway.

“Ah. Right. I should probably put all this back together now.” He said, to himself. As no one was going to respond. The owl watched him him from the mantle above the fireplace with haughty black eyes. Harry sighed and waved a hand at the furniture, which began to right itself. Rips in fabric were sewn back into place, books returned to their places upon shelves, chairs and tables righted themselves and broken pieces of glass fused back together. After a moment, the room was back to normal. But Harry was not.

He forced himself into the immaculate room and towards the large windows to the side of the fireplace. There he pulled out the tall and heavy knotted oak bird rest, and used a silent sticking charm on the base before standing it up on the floor, so that it wouldn’t fall over. He then summoned a teacup and transfigured it into a water dish, and stuck it to one side of the branch before standing back to admire his work. The owl flew down and landed on his new perch, walking up and down the long branch. Harry was pleased when it didn’t budge an inch under the owls weight.

Once settled, it turned to look at Harry with its large gleaming eyes. Those eyes followed him as he sat down in the his chair by the fire, exhausted and glad that his trip into Diagon Alley had been without incident.

“You’ll be needing a name, I suppose.” Harry sighed, watching the bird as it watched him. Something was nagging at Harry, some strange familiarity or likeness that he couldn’t place. It was when the owl shook itself and raised its head, staring down it’s curved beak at Harry that it struck him.

“You’re not a wizard in an animagus form are you?” Harry asked, half joking. The bird narrowed its eyes, looking almost disgusted. Harry nearly laughed.

“Well I suppose it just can’t be helped, can it? What is it with me and my need to name pets after infuriating slytherins?” He sighed. “How about Snape?”

The owl shook it’s feathers again, looking down at Harry and hooting softly in affirmative. Well, that was that.

 

* * *

 

 

“Have you tried to contact him?” Narcissa asked, delicately, sipping her tea across the dining room table.

“Of course not. He’d hex me on sight.” Draco said, efficiently cutting into his filet mignon before spearing a piece with his fork.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, in my opinion.”

“You don’t know all the dirty bits of history between us. Trust me, he’d hex me on sight. Whether he meant to or not.” Draco added darkly.

“Then owl him. We can’t afford to be on bad terms with him Draco.” She said, sniffing daintily and patting the edges of her mouth with a table napkin.

“I have it under control.” Draco offered, ready to be done with the topic. “I have a meeting with the accountant tomorrow morning. I may have to move some funds around. One of the witches working at the orphanage resigned.” He informed her.

“Why?” She asked, looking at him directly.

“No idea. But I should find out tomorrow.”

“I hope it's not because of this bad business in the PROPHET. Honestly, the things those people come up with.”

Tip appeared at her elbow to pour her more tea, and Draco chewed absently. No matter what he told his mother, he did not have it under control. He had no idea what to do about Potter. He had considered speaking to him, showing up at his house. Surprising him was probably not the best route, though, considering how their last encounter had gone. Owling him was an option, but what would he say? ‘Hey Potter, sorry again about lying to you and pretending to be a snake to gain your trust and listening to all your dirty secrets’. Right.

Draco suppressed a sigh. No, he had absolutely no idea. He would have to do something soon though. Their next charity event was a month away, he ached at the thought of not seeing Potter again until then.

“Draco?”  
Draco looked up at his mother’s expectant face.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked what time your meeting was.” She said, the delicate lines around her eyes creased in concern. “Are you alright?” She asked.

“Of course I am. Just tired. My meeting is at eight.”

 

Later on, after dinner, Draco was standing in his chambers alone next to the open window, gazing out at the dark and indulging himself in a sweet french cigarette when he heard wings in the darkness. He moved to the side just in time for the owl to fly through his open window, it’s sleek black feathers blending into the night perfectly.

It was a large and uniquely colored barn owl, a quite handsome creature. Draco admired it for a moment before taking the envelope from it’s beak. It waited silently while he opened it, watching him with intelligent black eyes. Draco’s breath froze when he recognized the untidy handwriting.

_Malfoy,_

_Please send instructions on how to make a donation to your charity._

_Potter_

It was brief and lacked any sense of familiarity, but it was something. Draco read over the words three times, fingers of his left hand absently brushing against his lips. His hands shook slightly as he bent down to pen a reply on a fresh piece of parchment.

 

_Potter,_

_Our next charity event is next month, February the 28th, at the manor. It is an auction, all proceeds go towards charity accounts and funding. I hope to see you here._

_I still have your motorcycle._

_Sincerely,_  
_Malfoy_

Draco inhaled shakily as he folded the parchment neatly, then handed it to the owl.

“Thank you.” He told the creature, who watched him knowingly.

He watched it fly gracefully out of the window, thinking that Potter had chosen well. Though, the bird reminded him of someone. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry was unwillingly distracted as he showed Teddy how to properly handle his new broom. The words _I hope to see you here, and I still have your motorcycle_ , were on repeat in his head. His preoccupation was so bad that he nearly let Teddy crash into the side of the cottage.

“No no, lean back, not forward. There you go, now you’re getting it!” He called, encouraging. And he was, actually. The new broom did wonders, Teddy was already showing improvement. Even Andromeda had to admit that she noticed a difference when she came out to the garden to bring them lunch.

“Did you see that granma! Isn’t it awesome? It even came with a catalogue and some broom polish and clippers and-” He gushed, looking fondly down at his new broom.

“Yes Teddy dear, it’s lovely, but please set it down and come eat.” Andromeda said patiently. Teddy obliged and sat at the little stone table between them to scarf down his sandwich.

“I’m afraid to know how much this new toy costs Potter.” She murmured, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

“Every young wizard should have a good broom, Andromeda. And, well. You should know that if there is anything that he ever needs, that either of you need-”

“Now that's quite enough of that Mr. Potter. We’re doing just fine.” She scolded him.

“I know that.” Harry placated. “I just want you to know that I can help, if it’s ever needed.” She scowled, but nodded.

Harry, can you show me some cool seeker moves? Did you bring your snitch?” Teddy asked, mouth full of food.

“Chew, darling.”

“Sure.” Harry told him, grinning.

 

* * *

 

 

_Harry,_

_Your new owl is gorgeous, congratulations. I know what getting a new owl meant to you. I’m glad you found such a spectacular one. Ron and I would be happy to come for dinner, how about around six? We’ll see you there this evening._

_Love,_  
_Hermione_

 

It had been a long time since Harry had done any real cooking, besides the megar stews he had made in his little shack in Romania. It was a trial and error process, but he managed to bake some chicken and roast some potatoes and greens without burning down his house.

He studiously ignored the pangs of loneliness at the sight of his empty tabletop. Snape was proving to be a great owl, but he was nothing of a companion compared to Draco. All Snape wanted to do was glare down his beak at Harry, with an oddly disapproving look.

The haughty bird also had no interest in being anywhere that wasn’t his perch. Harry had come to learn that he was indeed devilishly clever, and had been caught undoing the latch on the window in the drawing room on his own, so when he wasn’t out gallivanting around or doing Merlin knows what, he was just sitting on the knotted branch in front of the window, staring silently, his oily black feathers glinting in the firelight.

But no matter how grumpy and disinterested his new owl was, Harry was grateful to have someone there. Some presence to distract him from the ache inside.

Harry smiled when he heard the floo chime upstairs, and began to set the table as he heard Ron’s heavy feet coming down the stairs.

“Hey Harry, how are ya mate?” Ron asked, his face unusually animated. He was bouncing on his heels and grinning like a complete loon.

“Good, not as good as you though, it seems. What's on?” Harry asked, setting down the plates.

“I asked her, Harry. I asked Hermione to marry me!” Ron burst. “She said yes!” He almost shouted, throwing his hands in the air like it was a miracle.

“Well shite, congratulations!” Harry beamed, and stepped forward to give Ron a quick hug.

“Thanks. I gotta tell you Harry, I’ve never been more nervous in my life. I mean, it’s Hermione. What the hell does she see in a bloke like me? But she said yes, can you believe that? I still can’t believe it and I’ve had twenty four hours to process.” Ron went on, running hands through his flaming hair.

“So you asked her last night? I thought you were going to wait until your birthday?” Harry asked, walking over to the counter to grab silverware.

“I know, I was. But we were having dinner last night at this little place down the street from our flat. It was late, she had worked all day and was aggravated and exhausted, and Harry, she was sitting across the table from me talking and I just couldn’t get over how amazing she is. So I just kind of blurted it out, I didn’t mean to-”

“More like shouted it at me, really.” Hermione interjected from the doorway. Her face was pink, and her sweet smile dazzling.

“Well yeah, I was nervous, come on now.” Ron huffed, his ears red. “I didn’t even have the ring with me, had to apparate home and get it.”

“We wanted you to be the first to know Harry. We haven’t told anyone else yet.” Hermione said, setting her bag down on the counter, before walking across the kitchen to stand next to Ron. He put an arm around her, beaming.

And the two of them, standing there grinning at each other like a couple of teenagers, it was beautiful.

And Harry hurt more than ever.

“Guys, i’m so happy for you. Really. Congratulations. It’s about time,” He joked, before giving them both a hug. They hugged him back tightly for a few moments before separating.

“So what did you make us? I’m starving.” Ron said as they broke apart, and they were soon sitting around Harry’s kitchen table, which was much less empty, tucking into a surprisingly delightful dinner.

Harry tried his best to stay alert and attentive, to not let his pain show. He was genuinely happy for them, and didn’t want to spoil their happiness. Either he did a great job, or they were too over the moon to notice.

They talked about possible wedding dates and guest lists and venues, Harry listened and nodded along and offered his opinion like the friend that he was, fighting his conflicting happiness for them and misery for himself. Would he really be alone forever?

He was unprepared when the topic suddenly turned to him.

“So how have you been Harry?” Hermione asked as she sipped her tea. They had moved their conversation to the drawing room to enjoy the warmth of the fire. It was snowing outside again, and Snape was absent, hunting down dinner most likely.

“I’ve been worse.” He responded, trying to smile.

“Still bugging out about Malfoy turning out to be ferret, then?” Ron asked, Hermione shot him a dirty look.

“You know, I had actually named him Draco. The snake, I mean. He just reminded me of him. And I didn’t expect him to stick around so long so…” He confessed, staring down at his tea morosely.

“What, really? Wow mate. That’s.” Ron leaned back, at a loss. Hermione frowned at him sadly.

“It’s perfectly normal to be upset about it Harry.” She offered gently.

“It’s not just that though. I mean…” Harry glanced guiltily at Ron, “We were actually starting to become friends. Malfoy and me.”

“Are you sure you weren’t under the imperius?” Ron asked, after a moment of silence.

“Ronald! Harry was not cursed. Honestly. Harry,” She began, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees as she spoke, “Malfoy has changed since the end of the war. So have you. I think it’s only natural that the two of you become friends. You have more in common than you think.”

“I think you’re bonkers. Harry is way different from that git.”

“You have both been through so much, and you both want to forget the past and forge a new future, one full of peace. I’m not saying that I am okay with what he did, but I do understand _why_.” She said, ignoring Ron’s splutters beside her on the couch.

“You mean you understand why he pretended to be a snake and lied to me? Because if you do, please share.” Harry snapped, but Hermione forged on.

“You would have never given him a chance if he had come to you any other way, and don’t bother to deny it.” She said sternly. Harry scowled. “His family is under a lot of pressure. He has worked very hard to get where he is, and he really is helping people. I have a lot of respect for what he has accomplished the last few years. But these attacks are getting worse, and who do you think is at the top of their list? Mrs. Malfoy has already been attacked once, if they’re not caught and stopped they will eventually go after Draco.”

Harry’s stomach knotted with unwelcome dread. A vision of Malfoy laying still and silent in a bed at St Mungo's haunted him.

“Yeah, but I don’t see what that has got to do with me.” He murmured resentfully.

“Because you can offer him what no one else can. Safety. Support. People _listen_ to you, Harry. Draco knows that. With you standing beside him, he just might succeed, and live through it all at that.”

 

Her words nagged at him late into the night, even after Ron and Hermione had floo’d home. Harry hurt, the ache of Malfoy's betrayal was like an infected wound, throbbing constantly. But it wasn’t just a friend he had lost. He had lost a comforting companion, and a possible future. The house was too big for just him, and all the empty space around him felt suffocating. His large four poster bed was cold and empty, his bedroom quiet. No one came to talk him softly through his nightmares, no one wrapped around him and made him feel safe. No one sparred good naturedly or made his heart beat painfully.

Harry didn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t face the empty bed upstairs. He sat silently in front of the drawing room fire long after his friends had gone, holding his cold tea and bleeding over what could have been.

 

* * *

 

 

Blaise had been back in London for three days and had not come to call on Draco. Draco was not surprised to find that this did not bother him. He had more important things to worry about than his (ex?) lover's feelings.

The auction was three weeks away, and this time everything would be perfect. He had hired extra security, double and triple checked guest lists, menus, wine lists, and merchandise for auction. The house was undergoing some extreme cleaning and preparation, in three weeks time it would be immaculate.

He had even, nervously, sent an owl to Granger to confirm her attendance. He had not asked about Potter, but of course it was implied. Her promptly returned confirmation did nothing to settle the sickness he felt over the entire ordeal.

What if Potter didn't show? Or worse, what if he did, but ignored Draco the whole time? Or, Merlin forbid, what if he brought a date?

No, of course not. That would not happen. Potter would come with Granger, and Weasley would be blessedly absent. There would be no masked wizards barging into ruin everything, and the entire affair would run flawlessly. Perhaps if he repeated that to himself enough, it would be true.

The cold streets of London were busy around him as he sat at a little table just inside Rosa Lee’s Teashop. Business at Gringotts had brought him to Diagon Alley, and Draco had decided to stop in for a warm drink before continuing onto other errands. It seemed that his timing was perfect, because a wizard in a Quality Quidditch Supplies robe was leaning over the tea shop counter, gossiping to the young witch who worked there. Draco’s attention perked sharply at the mention of ‘Harry Potter’ and he cast a quick and discreet charm to enhance and focus his hearing.

“No, I’m not joking, Harry Potter was in my shop, just last week. He was looking for a child’s broom for his godson, bought the most expensive broom I had!

“Harry Potter has a godson?”

“Well yeah, little Teddy Lupin, his parents were killed in the final battle with you know who. He lives with his grandmother. I guess Mr. Potter see’s the kid on a regular basis. Funny though, he didn’t look like no uncontrollable dark wizard to me.”

“If anyone would be though, it would be him.” the girl whispered, Draco had an urge to look over at them, but he didn’t.

Their conversation drifted on to other topics and Draco ceased his eavesdropping. Perhaps it was time to pay his dear aunt Andromeda a visit.

 

“It’s been awhile Draco. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Andromeda asked as she poured him a cup of tea.

“Simply that, it has been a while. I thought I should check in and see how you and Teddy were doing. My orphans have been asking about him.” Draco replied as he sipped his tea politely. Andromeda sighed.

“Yes, he has been pestering me to bring him to the Manor. He gets a bit lonely here.” She said.

Teddy chose that moment to walk into the room, holding a beautiful new child’s broom.

“Cousin Draco! I didn’t know you were here! Want to see my new broom?” He asked, brimming over with enthusiasm. Draco smiled with a secret delight.

“Of course I would, show me.” He sat his tea cup down on the table between him and Andromeda and leaned forward to look at the broom in his little cousins hands. It was gorgeous, the new Dragon Wing. The man in the tea shop hadn’t been joking, Potter _had_ bought the most expensive broom in the shop.

“I just finished polishing it. It flies faster than the bees! I race them all the time. Guess who got it for me!” Teddy gushed.

“Who?”

“My godfather! Do you know my godfather? He’s Harry Potter!” Teddy blurted, so obviously in awe of Potter that it made Draco heartsore.

“As it happens, I do know him. We went to school together.” Draco informed him, with a small smile.

“He’s so cool, he’s teaching me how to fly better and he has a real snitch! He catches it and it’s so cool. I’m going to be a professional quidditch player when I grow up! Harry says that I’ll be good at it, I almost never run into walls anymore!”

Draco could help but to laugh.

“I’m sure you’ll be brilliant, cousin. Make sure you keep practicing.”

“I will! I’m going to practice more right now!” Teddy yelled as he ran passed Draco and towards the back garden, nearly knocking over Draco’s tea on his way out.

“Seem’s that Potter has had quite an impact on him.” Draco observed blandly.

“Yes. I was… concerned… at first. What with his absence and all this nonsense in the papers. But Harry has been wonderful with Teddy. I think it’s doing them both some good.” She murmured, eyes distant over her teacup.

“You should come to dinner at the Manor tomorrow. Mother would love to see you, and it's our weekly dinner for the kids. Teddy would get to see some of his friends.” Draco offered, fingers fluttering over his tie as he sat back on the sofa.

Andromeda’s eyes met his once again, and for a moment Draco thought that she knew exactly what he was up to. Then the look passed and she set her tea in her lap, “Of course. We’d love to.”

 

Draco walked out of the heavily warded doorway of the orphanage, taking a breath of cold air, smiling. Seeing the children always lifted his spirits, knowing that he was helping them overcome the tragedies of their pasts. So many witches and wizards had been lost in the war. So many children left drifting.

Well, not if Draco had anything to say about it. And he had, he was incredibly proud of the large structure behind him, safely tucked away between a muggle bank and bakery in London, just a few blocks from St Mungo's. It was warded almost as heavily as Hogwarts, and unplottable. It housed just over thirty children, from ages three to sixteen. The older ones were away at Hogwarts, but there were still thirteen under the age of eleven who lived and attended school here in London.

“Mr Malfoy, sir!” Draco turned.

“Yes, Ms Blingley?” One of the witches who watched after the children had come out of the door behind him, holding his scarf.

“You forgot this,” She offered, shivering in the cold air. Her grey curls blew gently as a cold breeze brushed past them both.

“Oh, thank you. I’ll see you and the children this evening.” He offered, taking his scarf from her and smiling.

“Of course sir, see you then.” She nodded and retreated back into the building, shutting the door firmly, sealing the wards in place.

Draco turned and began to walk down the busy street, towards the safe apparition point. He hadn’t gone more than a few paces when someone brushed up next to him.

“You should be more careful, Draco. You’ve become a very easy man to find.” Blaise’s deep voice was soft, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m not hiding, Blaise. Anyone who wishes to find me are more than welcome.” Draco offered as they continued to walk side by side.

“I don’t mean just me, as you well know. Be cautious. This hate group would love to get their hands on you. Those children still need you, you should take care.” Blaise responded, all falseness gone. They stopped together at the apparition point, and Blaise wordlessly gripped Draco’s arm, letting him apparate them both back to the Manor. They began a slow trek to the front entrance.

“It’s Potter, isn’t it?” Blaise asked softly. It was much more quiet there on Manor grounds that it had been in the middle of London. Draco sighed.

“It’s complicated.”

“Hasn’t it always been, between the two of you?” Blaise smiled, looking sideways at him. Draco smiled in return, all frostiness between them gone.

Blaise had been Draco’s casual lover for over three years, but he was also his friend.

“Yes, that’s true. I’m not sure, Blaise. I’ve made him angry at me again.”

“Is this like what we had, or could it be more?” Draco didn’t miss Blaise referring to their relationship as passed tense. It made him sad, but it wasn’t unexpected.

“More.” Draco whispered.

“Then give him time. Be patient. It’s going to be difficult, Draco. The two of you will either kill each other, or complete each other. I’m sorry that I can’t… that I couldn’t…” Blaise seemed to struggle for the words.

“I know. It’s alright. I couldn’t either. Until now. Until him.” Draco said, voice quiet in the white silence around them.

“He’d be lucky to have you, Draco. I wish you the best, my friend.”

They stopped there, just a few yards from the house, surrounded by snow and bare trees. Blaise brought his hand up, dark fingers pressing gently against Draco’s jaw. He pressed his full lips to Draco’s, and Draco returned his soft kiss. A goodbye.

Blaise left then, walking steadily away, back down the long drive and to the gates to the Manor. He didn’t look back.

Draco stood in front of his front steps and pulled in a breath of cold air, thinking longingly of taped glasses, wild black hair, warm fires, and gentle hands.

 

“They’re here,” Narcissa said, some hours later. It was early evening, and dinner was soon to be served. Draco was in his study, sipping brandy by the fire in solitude. Or he had been, until his mother’s gentle intrusion.

“I’ll be down in a moment.” He said. She left.

The brandy had warmed him, and he was prepared for the evening ahead. Endearing himself to Teddy could only help his cause, as far as Draco was concerned.

The dining room was loud and crowded with children. Draco smiled and returned hugs and greetings, and had difficulty spotting Teddy in the crowd. Considering his abilities, he was never exactly sure what his cousin would look like.

“Cousin Draco!” Teddy exclaimed, running up to hug him around the legs. This evening, Teddy was blonde and blue eyed. He hadn’t quite gotten Draco’s blue-grey eyes just right, but they were close. Draco smiled down at him with genuine fondness.

Is this what a son of his would look like? He would never know.

“Good evening Teddy. Having fun?”

“Oh yes! I was just telling Liam about my new broom, he wants to fly it too. Could I bring it over one day so that they can fly it too? Please?”

“Of course you can. But for now, let's all sit down and get ready for dinner.”

The kids chattering didn’t subside, but changed in purpose. They crowded around the table, bickering over seating and various other things, while Draco walked around to the head of the table to sit between his mother and Andromeda, who seemed to be already deep into a strained conversation about some of the more recent articles in the PROPHET.

“And I’m afraid Mrs. Rowle’s disappearance isn’t the only one. I had Miss Blingley at the home strengthen the wards again. I’m so afraid that they’ll go after the children.” Narcissa was saying, tone low as to not be overheard by any of the chattering ones nearby.

Tip was making her way around the table, setting down trays and plates full of lovely puddings, stuffed chickens, freshed sliced breads with butter, greens, and more. There was lull in conversation as the children began stuffing themselves with as much as they could manage. Draco suppressed a grin.

“What terrible people, to threaten innocent children. As if they’re responsible for the mistakes of their parents.” Andromeda said delicately as she sliced into a chicken in front of her.

“I agree, aunt. Though I doubt they’ll get passed the home’s wards. I went and had a little visit this morning, they’re quite strong. Nothing to worry about, I’m sure.” Draco offered.

“We’ve also increased security here at the Manor, for the night of the auction. We don’t want another nasty surprise like last month.” Narcissa added.

“Will you be coming to the auction, aunt?” Draco asked.

“I’m not sure yet. There aren’t many people I’m comfortable leaving Teddy with. Mr Potter just might be one of those few… though from what I understand he will be attending your auction, won’t he?” Andromeda asked, with an air of innocence. Draco glanced at his mother out of the corner of his eye, to catch her small quick smile, before answering.

“Yes, I’m hoping he will.”

 

* * *

 

 

 Ron slammed two pints onto the table in front of Harry, nearly yelling over the noise in the pub, “Everything alright?”

Harry was startled out of his musings by Ron’s abrupt return to their grimy little booth. He had gone to call on Andromeda and Teddy the previous evening, only to find their little cottage vacated. It wasn’t until this morning that he had received an apology by owl, apparently Andromeda and Teddy had been at the Manor for dinner.

With Malfoy.

Harry had not been aware that Malfoy saw his godson on a regular basis, and he was confused about how he felt about it.

“Er, yeah. I’m fine. What about you? Have you told your mum that you’re engaged yet?” Harry asked, sipping his pint as Ron sat down opposite him.

“Nah, we’re going to wait until my birthday. That way the whole family is there, and can be included in breaking the news, you know?”  
“Yeah, that's a good idea.”

The Leaky Cauldron was crowded, and smelled of a weird combination of beer, dirty socks, and cheetos. It was slightly unnerving for Harry, who was still getting used to being around people again, to be in such a cramped and crowded space. At least places like Diagon Alley were open. Being in the Leaky was like being back in Lockharts classroom full of pixies.

The cramp space didn’t seem to bother Ron, who’s cheeks were already pink with drink.

“So I told Kingsley he should put all the aurors under veritaserum.” Ron said.

“What, really? What did he say?” Harry asked, leaning to rest his elbows on the table between them.

“He disagreed.” Ron said, lips pursed together.

“You’re not serious?”

“I’m afraid I am. He said ‘can’t alienate my aurors and have them thinking that i don’t trust them’ or some rubbish. I told him, it’s gotta be someone with inside knowledge. Or at least some kind of informant. He wouldn’t go for it.” Ron shook his head, sighing.

“So what now?” Harry asked.

“Back to the same old shite, I guess. Waiting for them to make a move, so that we can show up too late and learn absolutely nothing.” His friend replied bitterly.

“Tough luck, mate. What does Hermione think?”

“She thinks I’m right, bless her. She said the best thing to do is keep an eye on the other aurors and see if any of them is acting suspiciously. And I’ve tried, Harry. But i’ve got nothing. I’ve even got Petterson in on it, but we’re so busy sorting through reports and other call in jobs that it’s hard to watch for anything like that, you know?”

“Yeah. But there haven’t been any more attacks?”

“Nah, nothing yet. Though, we have been coordinating with Malfoy. He’s wanting extra security at this charity event he’s having next week.” Ron said offhandedly, before taking a long drink of his beer.

“Are the aurors going to be there?” Harry asked, interested despite himself.

“Volunteer basis only.”

“You going?” Harry asked.

“Yeah. ‘Mione’s gonna be there, as well as you, yeah? So I’ll be there. Just to be safe.”

Harry was momentarily overcome with fondness for his best friend, but made a heavy effort to shove it aside. A crowded pub was not the place.  
“Thanks mate.” He said instead.

“No problem.” Ron grinned. “So, about the party-”

But whatever Ron was about to say about the party was interrupted by a loud belch from the table next to them, then an uproarious jeering and applause. Harry and Ron both turned to look, and one of the men, who was quite obviously heavily intoxicated, shouted;

“Hey, that’s Harry Potter!”

Chairs scraped against the stone floor as a roomful of eyes turned to look directly at them. Harry’s face felt suddenly inflamed, and he tried to duck his head down, but the damage was done. The muttering started up immediately. Even the barkeep craned his head over to look, pausing in his never ending task of wiping the bar.

“You reckon the rumors are true? That he’s gone dark?”

“Looks pretty shady to me,”

“I heard he’s been hanging around with the Malfoys, that's a dark wizard family or my aunt is a hinkypunk.”

“We’ll I ain’t havin’ no dark wizards in my pub!”

 

The last was spoken by a wide chested and middle aged wizard, surrounded by other similar men, one of which was the talented belcher. He stood up abruptly, chair legs scraping against the dirty pub floor. His friends quickly followed him, a few reaching for their wands. Harry’s wild magic fluctuated dangerously as he inhaled, trying quickly to get it under control. The salt shaker on the table in front of him wobbled and fell over, his ale sloshed over the rim of his glass and splattered onto the table.

Ron reacted with admirable speed and resolve. He was on his feet before Harry could blink, wand out and ready.

“I am auror Weasley, you gentlemen will put your wands away and go back to enjoying your drinks or I’ll have the entire Department of Magical Law enforcement down here faster than you can say Hogwarts.” His freckled face was flushed, mouth set angrily, but he spoke with an authority that Harry had never heard before.

There was some more muttering and dark looks exchanged before the men sat down grudgingly, watching Harry and Ron out of the corner of their eyes.

“I think I’ve lost my appetite.” Harry murmured.

“Me too. Come on,” Ron said.

Harry kept his eyes on his shoes as they walked out into the freezing night air. They strode wordlessly down the busy sidewalk, away from wizarding london and towards Ron and Hermione’s flat. Emotions were rolling through Harry, he tried to focus on the feel of cold air going into his lungs.

“It’s not right, Harry.” Ron said suddenly, from his side.

“What?”

“The way people are treating you. After all you’ve done! After you gave up your life and defeated Voldemort. After all you’ve suffered. It’s just not right.” Ron said bitterly, staring ahead of them.

Harry looked at him. Harry had never regretted the five years he had spent away more than he did in that moment, looking at his best friend, realizing that Ron had gone and grown up without him. He had come a long way from the little boy with dirt on his nose who shyly asked to see Harry's scar, before the question had begun to make him uncomfortable. Now here he was, tall and broad shouldered with an aged look in his eyes that Harry recognized in a deep part of himself.

“I’m glad you’re my best friend Ron.” Ron colored a bit and glanced at him, smiling sadly.

“Me too, mate.”

They parted ways at the corner near Ron’s flat, agreeing to meet at a muggle pub next time, before Harry waved goodbye and began the long walk home. He thought morosely of his motorcycle, still parked at Malfoy Manor. He really should go get it, but he didn’t quite feel up to facing Malfoy just yet.

So he pulled his scarf more tightly around his neck and crossed his arms against the cold, then made his way home.

 

* * *

 

 

Snape was beginning to make Harry uncomfortable.

The owl’s haughty black eyes were narrowed down at him as he sat on the floor in front of the fire in the drawing room, trying to meditate. Unsuccessfully. He had been there for nearly half an hour. Snape usually slept or went out while he meditated, but for some reason this afternoon he seemed determined to disturb him. After the fourth time Harry tried to allow his power to flow gently from him and Snape puffed up his feathers angrily, Harry sigh and glared at him. He stood, hands on his hips, frustrated.

“Well what is it then?” Snape just glared. “Are you bored? Would you like to deliver a letter?” The owl turned his beak up and away and puffed his feathers indignantly. Then stuck out his leg. Harry let out an annoyed breath.

He walked over to the short table where a pad of paper and a quill rested and sat down. But who would he write? There were so many people that he had left behind after the war. So many that he owed explanations to. When it occurred to him, he felt guilty for not thinking of him sooner.

Harry dipped his quill into the ink and then began to write;

 

_Dear Hagrid,_

_I’m sorry that I haven’t written. I’m back living in London. I’ve been thinking of coming to visit Hogwarts one day soon. Will you have time for a cup of tea?_

_Hope to see you soon,_  
_Harry_

 

He sat back and read over the letter before rolling up the parchment and carrying it over to Snape.

“Take this to Hagrid please, at Hogwarts. And be nice to him.” Harry ordered wryly, as he attached the scroll of parchment to his leg. Snape gave him a look before opening his wings and taking flight out of the open window. Harry stood there and watched him go, and felt his absence.

 

In the days that followed Hagrid's joyous return letter, Harry began to make plans to visit Hogwarts for the first time since the defeat of Voldemort. His only real dilemma was _how_. Since the battle, the castles wards were stronger than ever, which meant no apparition or floo. Even apparating to Hogsmeade required special clearance. He could take the train, but that would take too long. He would prefer to make the trip and return trip in one day.

His best option would be to fly, but he no longer had a broom and his motorcycle was still at the Manor…

Which meant Harry would need to grit his teeth and owl Malfoy.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Also, if you’ll look at account 972, you’ll notice that…”

Draco was dreadfully bored.

He sat at the head of a rather long table surrounded by financial advisors and accountants, a couple of architects, and Blaise.

His relationship with Blaise was just as easy as it had always been, just without the occasional sex. Which Draco could honestly say he didn’t miss too much. He could always pleasure himself if it came down to it, and seeing Blaise’s dark skin no longer called to him like it once did. His desires ran differently lately…

A recent dream came to mind, of a dark room with blurred colors like an oil painting. Deep reds and hints of gold, with a lean body and a mess of black hair. Draco felt his arousal stirring inconveniently.

“... Mister Malfoy?”

“Yes?” He drawled, returning his attention to the present reluctantly. He could see Blaise smirking out of the corner of his eye.

“I was just asking if you wanted to move funds from account 545 to-” But Mughorn’s voice was cut off by a large black owl flying gracefully into the room. Draco stood immediately.

“That will be all for today, gentlemen.” He said, and there was a flurry of movement following his words as various men rose and gathered their parchments. Blaise lingered. Draco paid him no mind.

He held out his hand and Potter’s owl landed on his arm obediently, looking exceedingly bored. He took the parchment and the owl fluttered to the back of his chair to wait for Draco’s reply.

 

_Malfoy,_

_I need to come pick up my bike. Please let me know when would be a good time._

_Potter_

 

“Have you made any progress regarding dear Mr. Potter?” Blaise inquired lazily, admiring the owl.

“Not exactly.” Draco answered, picking up a quill and sitting down to reply as Potter's owl regarded the letter over his shoulder.

It had been weeks since that night, and Draco longed to see him again. Rather than try to contact him, he had decided to be patient and wait for Potter to come to him. If nothing else, he would see him at the auction. But with this letter came the opportunity to see him sooner. Draco’s hand shook slightly as he wrote;

_Potter,_

_I am available this evening, if that is convenient for you, around six._

He chewed the inside of his lip, wanting to add something more personal, such as _‘I look forward to seeing you’_. But perhaps that wouldn’t be a good idea. Instead, he settled for ending his missive with something more simple.

_Warm regards,_  
_Draco_

 

He rolled up the parchment carefully with trembling fingers and secured it to the owl’s leg. It stared at him intently for a moment before taking flight once again.

“He seems to have quite an effect on you.” Blaise murmured next to him as they both watched the owl fly away.

“He always has.”

For the rest of the day, Draco fretted around the house, unnecessarily checking dinner arrangements, requesting that his mother see to the children's arrival, and ordering the elves to go down to the workshop where Potters bike was being kept and clean it thoroughly. Draco wanted to make sure Potter felt it had been taken care of. It wouldn’t do to give it back to him covered in dust.

He also took it upon himself to floo his aunt and make arrangements for her and little Teddy to join them for dinner. Teddy agreed excitedly, and asked his aunt if he could bring his new broom to show his friends. Draco insisted that he didn’t mind, and she exasperatedly agreed.

The stage was set. Now all he had to do was wait.

And wait.

And wait.

The hours seemed to go on for days. Draco had to cast a quick regrowth charm on his fingernails after he had bitten them down. A nasty habit, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He couldn’t even find the headspace to be annoyed at the way Potter was affecting him, as he was so concerned with making sure this meeting went absolutely seamlessly.

When the orphans arrived at five, Draco suggested they all have some hot chocolate outside on the patio. The day was bright and chilly, the sunlight reflecting off of the fresh snow from the night before. Teddy, green eyed and black haired, joined them with enthusiasm. He was then surrounded by happily chattering children, with forty minutes until Potter was supposed to arrive. Things were going as planned. Once the children were finished with their warm drinks, they all followed Teddy out into the snow and watched with awe as he mounted his broom and showed off his new skill.

Draco was impressed, his cousin was indeed showing remarkable improvement. His time with separated Potter had been good for him.

“Cousin Draco, watch this!” Draco smiled and kept his eyes on Teddy attentively as he flew up into the air and then straight down at the snow. He pulled out of the dive just in time, face flushed with exhilaration and grinning from ear to ear. Draco’s heart beat painfully.

“Teddy that was amazing! Where did you learn that?”

“Harry taught me! He lets me play with his snitch sometimes too! I’m getting really good at catching it!” Teddy gushed, landing in front of Draco and gesturing wildly with his hands about the last time he caught the snitch in the back garden at home. Draco had to lean back to not be hit with the broom that was still clutched in Teddy's little hands as he waved them around.

“Hey Teddy, can I have a go? Pleeease!” Micah interrupted Teddy’s story, his request repeated several times by the other children.

“Sure, just be careful with it.” Teddy said, handing over his prized broom with the smallest amount of reluctance. Draco, proud of him, ruffled his messy black hair fondly. They stood together and watched as each of the other children happily took turns, squabbling about who was next and how long their time was.

Draco was almost preoccupied enough to not notice the time. Almost.

He had strategically placed himself and the children near the patio, where they would easily be seen from the front entrance of the house, where presumably Potter would arrive. He was not disappointed.

“Harry!” Teddy shouted, and Draco turned, his breath caught in his chest.

Potter was slowly walking towards them, eyes wide and wary as he looked at Draco surrounded by children.

“Harry look, I’m letting my friends see my broom. I showed them the wonkey feint!” Teddy gushed at his godfather, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards Draco and the others.

“Wronski Feint, Teddy,” Draco heard Potter correct him gently.

Teddy let go of him once they were a few feet away, running back to Liam, who was now holding the broom.

“Good evening Potter,” Malfoy said carefully, studying his face.

“Malfoy,” Potter nodded, with a slight frown. He was not openly hostile, which Draco considered a positive sign. Though, he wouldn’t be in front of the children.

“Teddy, I’m going to take Potter to the workshop. I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?” Draco said, tearing his eyes away from Potters face with more effort than should have been necessary.

“Okay,” Teddy responded, not even looking at Draco as they all watched Liam hover uncertainly on the broom. David was there, and would keep a watchful eye for a few minutes. Draco was also certain that his mother was watching from the windows in the house.

Potter was silent as they walked away from the children. He kept a minimum of three feet of distance between them, his hands hidden in the warmth of his robes and that obnoxious gryffindor scarf concealing his neck from view. Draco longed to decrease the distance, but held himself in check.

The only sound was the crunching of snow under their feet, and the children's laughter growing quieter behind them as they walked around the house to the workshop on the other side. Draco tried to sneak glances at Potter out of the corner of his vision. He stared down at the ground in front of them as he walked, eyes far away and deep in thought, cheeks and lips pink from the cold. Draco ached.

He waved his wand at the double doors when they arrived at the workshop entrance and they parted easily, allowing them entrance to a large and brightly lit room full of many things. Among them was a collection of vintage brooms, cabinets with extension charms for storage, and many shelves housing various magical trinkets. Potters monstrous motorcycle sat in the middle of the floor, freshly cleaned and coated in a layer of wax that left it gleaming.

“What did you do to it?” Potter asked fully frowning now as he walked around the side of the machine.  
“I had the elves clean it.” Draco offered hesitantly, afraid he had somehow upset Potter yet again. “Did they harm it?” He looked over the beast with concern.

“No, it looks fine. Great, in fact…” Potter said, still frowning down at the thing with concern. Draco opened his mouth to speak, unsure of what to say. After a moment, Potter continued; “I’ve never seen it look so nice, I guess. It surprised me.” Potter finished, shrugging awkwardly. He wouldn’t make eye contact with Draco.

“Ah. Well, I think it looks much better now. Not all all terrifying.” He offered carefully. He was rewarded when Potter snorted out a quick laugh, though he reigned it in quickly. He glanced at Draco before swinging his leg over the thing and placing his hand on some piece on the front end and it rumbled loudly to life.

Draco panicked a bit, realizing that Potter was about to depart.

“Potter,” He blurted loudly, trying to be heard of the thing. Potter looked at him expectantly, pulling his scarf more securely around his neck. “I… I’ll see you soon. At the auction.” Draco offered, purposefully voicing it as a statement, instead of a question.

He waited as Potter stared at him, mouth slightly open, and Draco clutched his hands into fists at his sides in order to keep from wringing his hands. Finally Potter seemed to snap out of it and just gave a jerky nod before turning away and quickly pushing the beastly machine into movement.

Draco watched as Potter took off and flew away, growing smaller and smaller, and taking Draco’s bloody heart with him.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry decided to visit Hogwarts on Valentine's day.

He chose the holiday for multiple reasons. One being that Ron and Hermione had invited him to go out with them and the last thing Harry wanted to do was be out in public view as a third wheel on the most romantic day of the year. Another being that most of the students at Hogwarts would be out of the castle and enjoying Hogsmeade, so he wouldn't have to deal with the stares as the walked through the castle walls.

He also, personally, hated Valentines Day, seeing as he had never had an enjoyable experience with it in his life.

So Hogwarts it was. He left Grimmauld Place early that morning, flying through thick clouds and snow to the castle he had once called home. It was just as he remembered. He came out of a break it the clouds and was gifted with the sight of the school, turrets and grounds covered in a layer of snow. The repairs after the battle had taken over a year, but Harry couldn’t even tell that it had been damaged. It was just as beautiful as ever. The ache of nostalgia consumed him.

Hagrid was expecting him, and Harry could see him standing at the gates, waving his massive hands in greeting. Harry brought the bike down, touching the snow gently and gliding to a stop. He shut off it’s magical engine and his ears rang in the silence. The warming charms he had applied for the journey faded and the cold hit him once again, his breath fogging the air in front of his face as he grinned up at his friend.

Hagrid was opening the massive gates, his smile wide and his eyes watery. Harry pushed the bike through the gates and shoved the kickstand down, before turning and being enveloped in a massive hug that cracked his spine in at least five different places.

“It’s great ter see ya Harry.” Hagrid offered when he finally let him go. He had hardly changed. His wild hair and beard were still as black as ever, his moleskin coat still hugging his large frame. A few more lines around his eyes were the only difference, and even those were subtle. Harry had missed him so.

“It’s great to see you too, Hagrid.” Harry smiled, feeling better than he had in weeks.

“Come on, let's get you a cup o’ tea. It’s cold out here.”

They left Harry’s bike parked at the gate and trudged through the snow to Hagrid's hut, which had also been rebuilt after the battle. It was still too small for Hagrid, but it felt right. Harry sat at the round table while Hagrid poured him a cup of tea in a mug as big around as his head.

“Where’s Fang?” He asked.

“Lost ‘im last year. He got a bit old.” Hagrid informed him sadly. The watery eyes were back.

“Oh Hagrid… I’m so sorry.” Harry offered, at a loss.

“It’s alright. It was his time. He was a great dog.” Hagrid said, sniffing as he raised his tea in tribute. Harry followed suit, and they drank to Fang.

“I see you got a new owl.” Hagrid offered, smiling at him.

“Yeah. It was time.”

“He’s a pretty one. A bit grumpy.” Harry laughed.

“You’re not kidding. He can be a menace.” Harry smiled. Then confided, “I named him Snape.”

“It suits him.” Hagrid said sagely, and they were both silent for a while as they drank their tea.

“How are you doin’ Harry?” Hagrid asked him eventually. Harry sighed and set his cup down on the table.

“I’m okay. Better now than I was before, but not quite… healed, I guess. Still struggling.”

“That sounds ‘bout right. Not sure if that's somethin’ you’ll ever get over.”

“You’re probably right.” Harry smiled sadly.

“Well you’ll always have friends here, Harry. If you ever need anythin’, an’ I mean it, anythin’… you can come back.” He said gruffly, but with fondness.

“Thanks Hagrid.”

 

Harry spent a while wandering the school grounds alone. He had been right to come on the holiday, the school was nearly empty, and the few stragglers Harry saw paid him no mind.

The castle was a beautiful and quiet, and he had missed it more than he realized. He wandered over to the quidditch pitch and let himself be assaulted by memories, wind in his hair and cheers of the crowd. As he stared at the section of the stands draped in slytherin green, he couldn’t help but think of Malfoy.

He had looked so bloody beautiful when Harry saw him, just a few days before. Silver hair shining in the sun, his face open and animated as he spoke to the orphans in the snow. Damn him.

Harry was so goddamn lonely, but it was a particular kind of loneliness. The kind that Ron and Hermione couldn’t fix for him, no matter how much they tried. His anger at Malfoy had mostly faded, leaving behind a conflicting mixture of pain and betrayal and longing. Seeing Malfoy had only made it worse. He was still angry and hurt, but it was deeper than that. He wanted Malfoy to apologize, he wanted him to grovel. He also didn't want to see him, or he wanted to punch him in his pointy face. He also wanted to kiss him senseless. None of which helped Harry figure out what to do.

Harry had considered trying to meet new people. But the prospect made him heavily uncomfortable. He wasn’t one for public settings and strangers, he never had been. The last five years had only made it worse. Plus, if he was being completely honest with himself, he didn’t want to meet anyone new. He wanted Malfoy.

He wanted to turn back time to before that night had ever happened. To go back to being blissfully ignorant, to see if their relationship could have progressed… to explore that possibility…

But that wasn’t going to happen. What was done was done, Malfoy had lied and tricked him, had invaded his privacy in a way that Harry couldn’t easily forgive. No matter how much he ached to.

He turned away from the quidditch pitch and started towards the castle. The front doors opened for him readily, and he made his way up to the headmistress’s office with sure feet born from years of intimate knowledge of the castles worn floors. It even smelled the same. Of torches and parchment, ink and magic.

It was when he was standing in front of the gargoyles that he realized he didn’t know the password.

“Err…” He stammered, and to his surprised, they lept out of his way and allowed them to pass. He muttered a quick thank you, and made his way up.

The headmistress’s office was muchly the same as he remembered from the days that Dumbledore occupied it. A bright circular room with knickknacks adorning the walls. Even the pensieve was there. But that wasn’t what Harry had come to see.

“Potter.”

McGonagall was even more severe than he remembered, to his immense pleasure.

“Headmistress. It’s good to see you looking so well.” Harry offered, smiling at her where she sat behind her desk.

“Took you long enough to find your way back here. Have a seat. Tea?” She offered.

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

She summoned a tea tray with her wand, complete with milk, sugar, and biscuits. Harry sat in one of the rigid chairs facing her desk and glanced up. Dumbledore smiled down at him with ever knowing eyes. There was an empty portrait next to him, the background sporting a lovely acrylic slytherin banner.

“I wanted to thank you for the Christmas gift you sent. It was awesome.” Harry told McGonagall, grinning.

“You’re quite welcome, Potter. I was pleased to hear of your return. Though it came as a surprise that you didn’t join the Aurors.” She stated, one thin eyebrow raised as she sipped her tea.

“I don’t think that's for me anymore.”

“No?”

“No. I’ve done enough fighting. Ron seems to have taken to it pretty well, though.” He said wistfully. She nodded.

“Yes, Mr. Weasley has certainly done well for himself. As has Miss Granger. If being an Auror no longer interests you, then what does?”

Harry was taken back to all those years ago when he sat in an office with McGonagall, discussing career advice. She seemed just as driven now as she did then. He sipped his tea and thought for a moment.

“I’m not really sure. I’m still trying to figure it out.” He offered lamely.

“Well, you could always teach.” She said, lightly. Too lightly.

“Err, teach?” Harry had never thought of it. He certainly didn’t feel qualified for it.

“Yes, Potter. Teach. As in, to help shape the minds of young witches and wizards and turn them into intelligent and productive members of the wizarding community. Surely it's not that difficult a concept.” She retorted, pursing her lips.

“I don’t… I don’t think I’d be a very good teacher.” He stuttered.

“I seem to recall once not so long ago, when in fact, you were a great teacher.” She said, her eyes boring into him.

Evenings full of students practicing defensive spells in the room of requirement filled his mind. Did that really count though? All he had done was help them along a bit. They had done most of the work themselves. Harry squirmed in his chair, uncomfortable. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled down at him, full of delight and mischief.

“Just something to consider, along with all of the other exciting offers that I’m sure you’ve already gotten.” She said tartly, when he didn’t answer.

“Right.” He offered faintly.

 

The journey home was full of confusion and clouded thoughts. Harry felt overwhelmed, having had so many heavy conversations in one day. Not the least was McGonagall's out of the blue job offer. Had it been an offer? Or merely a vague suggestion? Harry couldn’t tell. He never really could, with that woman.

He parked his bike in the back garden and trudged wearily into the house and up the stairs. As he went to pass the drawing room, Snape hooted at him. Harry turned and noticed Ron’s owl sitting next to him on the perch. Snape did not look happy about the arrangement, and was refusing to share his water, the stingy git.

 

_Harry,_

_Since Malfoy’s stupid party is the same weekend as my birthday, mum wants to have the party the weekend before. Just letting you know that it’s this coming saturday. Come hungry!_

_Ron_

 

* * *

 

 

Harry spent the remainder of the week puttering around his house, cleaning up here and there and going through all the bookshelves that Hermione had taken upon herself to stock. There were many interesting titles that he had never heard of before, such as _Curses, Cures, and Coin Collecting_ , and _The Unequivocal Guide to Unique Sorcery and Spells._

One title in particular caught Harry’s eye; _Wandless Magic, a Theory in Practice_. Harry spent nearly two days on the sofa in the drawing room reading it from cover to cover.

Harry was delighted the evening before Ron’s party when Andromeda appeared in the floo.

“Oh Mr. Potter, thank Merlin you’re home.” Harry glanced up from one of his books in surprise.

“Andromeda, hello,”

“My aunt has fallen off of her broomstick and has had to be rushed to Saint Mungo’s. I was hoping I could leave Teddy here with you for just a couple of hours?” She asked quickly, obviously frazzled.

“Of course, I’d be happy to have him. Is your aunt going to be okay?”

“Teddy dear, get your things,” She called behind her, “She should be fine. A ninety-eight year old woman has no business on a broomstick, and I’ll be sure to tell her so.” She said, cross.

She ushered Teddy through the grate, who was delighted to see Harry, and bid them a quick farewell.

“Is this your house?” Teddy asked, looking around with wide eyes.

“Yep, this is my house. Would you like a tour?”

“Yeah!”

Harry spent the next hour showing Teddy every room in the house, even the untouched room on the top floor that belonged to Sirius. He spent as little time in there as possible.

As they made their way down to the kitchen, Teddy asked if one of the unoccupied rooms could be his room. The question drew Harry up short, who had never entertained the idea that Teddy might one day spend enough time in Harry’s house that would require him to have his own room. Now that it had been brought up, the prospect delighted him.

“I’m not sure… I would have no problem with it, but that's something that we would have to discuss with your grandmother.” Harry had eventually answered.

They ended up in Harry’s kitchen, the table covered in flour and sugar and bits of wet batter splattered everywhere. Teddy asked Harry questions about his time playing quidditch while they waited for the lemon tarts to bake, licking sweet bits off of their fingers. His godson stared in awe as he told stories and demonstrated certain moves that had won him so many matches.

Teddy was a wonderful child. His ever changing appearance startled Harry less and less as time went on. His basic features always remained the same unless he focused on them, such as the shape of his nose, the width of his jaw. His control wasn’t quite enough that he could change himself entirely, but he had mastered his hair and eyes. He looked so much like Tonks and Lupin.

 

When Andromeda arrived much later in the evening to collect Teddy, Harry’s stomach was full of lemon tart, and his heart full of love for Teddy’s delightful personality. He seemed to have forgotten his request for a room, but Harry hadn’t. He vowed to himself to bring up the topic with Andromeda next time he had the chance.

 

* * *

 

 

There were Weasley’s everywhere. Harry was surrounded by flaming red hair, and was relieved to see a familiar patch of bushy brown.

“Hey,” He said lowly, tapping Hermione on the shoulder as she stood watch over the Weasley brothers setting up the table and tent. She was also doing some very clever charm work, tiny fairy lights blew from her wand like bubbles, floating in the air just above people's heads.

“There you are Harry,” She said, flicking her wand to end the stream of lights. “Join me for a drink?”

“Sure,”

“They made their way into the crowded house and snuck two glasses of wine from the counter, narrowly missing Mrs. Weasley's hawkish gaze before disappearing back into the garden. They stood to the side of the commotion, observing quietly.

“How have you been?” She asked, peering at him.

“Okay, I guess. I went to Hogwarts.”

“Oh? How did that go? Did you see Hagrid?”

“Yeah I did, he looks good. Said he lost Fang last year.”

“Oh that's terrible. It’s been too long since we’ve seen him. We need to schedule a visit soon.” She sighed, her gaze moving to Ron, who was currently engaged in an arm wrestling match with Charlie. And losing.

“I saw McGonagall too.” Harry said, debating before adding, “I think she offered me a job.”

“A job? What do you mean?” Hermione asked sharply, her eyes back on him.

“I dunno, she asked if i was considering anything since I turned down the auror position. She said that I could always be a teacher. It was weird.”

Hermione just looked at him, slowly chewing her bottom lip, glass forgotten in her hand.

“What?” Harry said.

“Well… it would make sense, wouldn’t it? You’d be great at it.”

Harry scoffed.

“Me? A teacher? A Hogwarts? How much wine have you had?”

“No, seriously Harry. With all of your experience, I think you’d be a fantastic addition to Hogwarts. As the Defense teacher, obviously. As far as I know the position is still held by Professor Polter. But he’ll be retiring soon, given his advanced age…”

“You’ve gotta be joking.” Harry said, half hoping that she was.

“I am not joking. You should honestly consider it. Or was there something else that you wanted to do with the rest of your life?” She challenged.

“Well, not exactly, but-”

“But nothing. You can’t just stay shut away in your house forever Harry. Give it some thought at least, okay?” She said, gently. Harry could only nod dumbly.

“Have you spoken to Malfoy?” She asked, after some silence between them. Harry’s mood darkened somewhat.

“Not really. I went to the manor to pick up my bike, but not much was said.”

“I heard a rumor at work that he and Zabini have split up.” She said softly. Harry went rigid.

“Why would you tell me that.” He said, unable to look at her, watching Charlie and Bill struggle against each other at the table, amidst cheering.

“Just thought it might be relevant.”

Harry swallowed, his mouth dry, but was saved from having to come up with a response by the arrival of Ginny. She was tugging an attractive man by the hand. His eyes were brown, his hair a dirty blonde. He was dressed well, with a tall and lean frame and a likable smile.

“Harry, I wanted to introduce you to Jean Volmeir. Jean, this is Harry Potter.” She said, looking at Harry nervously. Jean, her boyfriend. Right.

With a mighty effort, Harry shoved Hermione’s words down to be examined later in private. He smiled at Jean and extended his hand.

“It’s an honor to meet you Mr. Potter, truly.” Jean said. Ginny was wringing her fingers together.

“Harry, please. It’s good to meet you. Ginny has told me about you. She said you were a broom maker, I think?” Harry asked, doing his best to be nice. This was important to Gin.

“Harry,” Jean said, nodding. “Yes, I am. I try to be, anyway.” He had a pleasent accent, Harry noticed.

“He’s being modest. Jean is part of the team that designed the Dragon Wing.”

“Oh? I bought that for my godson.” Harry said, smiling.

“Really? How does he like it?”

From there stemmed nearly thirty minutes of discussion on the finer points of broom making. Harry found that he genuinely liked Jean, and that he wasn’t at all disgruntled about his relationship with Ginny. She seemed happy, and that was enough for him.

Ron found them eventually, and tugged Harry by the arm over to the table where various Weasley’s were now placing bets. He found himself sitting on one side with Ron on the other, grinning happily. Harry felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, the crowd around them was dense. Most were faces that he recognized, a few were some he didn’t.

He tried to focus on Ron in front of him, the feeling of his sweaty palm against Harry’s own. The hair on his arms stood straight up, his stomach felt like it was full of snakes. So many people. Harry took a deep breath.

It was over quickly. Ron was still larger than him, veins popping in his arm as they strained against each other. Harry wasn’t too surprised when the back of his hand hit the table with a heavy thud. He smiled, but it was forced.

“Good match, Harry,” Ron grinned. Harry was once again overcome with how much he had changed, how much he had grown. Everyone had. Everyone was changing, growing without him. The snakes turned into lead weights. He excused himself as politely as he could, while Ron challenged Percy.

Harry caught Hermione’s eye. She was smiling at him sympathetically.

The next few hours were a blur to Harry. People talked, people ate, people drank. Harry made conversation, but couldn’t remember a word of it afterwards. He was completely overwhelmed, and dreadfully missed his little cabin in the snow. And Draco.

When dinner was finally over, Ron stood up on his chair, his bright hair glowing under Hermione’s fairy lights, and shouted for quiet.

“I’d like to thank you guys for coming, I know this seems kind of overdone for a birthday party.” He stopped here for a second, grinning goofily. “But that is because it’s not just a birthday party.”

Harry glanced over at Molly, who was frowning and looking over to whisper at Arthur.

“I have an announcement to make.” Ron added, visibly swallowing from five yards away. He held his hand out for Hermione. People began to gasp and smile as she stood, blushing furiously under her bushy hair. “I asked Hermione to marry me. And she said yes.”

The whistling and catcalling from the Weasley brothers dominated everyone’s reaction by a long shot. Most were clapping, Molly was crying. Ginny was standing to hug Ron, and then Hermione. After that, it was as though a line was forming. Harry stood back a bit, having already given his congratulations. Ron and Hermione looked so damn happy, they kept sneaking secret glances at each other.

“They told you already, huh?” Arthur asked from where he had snuck up next to him. Molly was currently blubbering her happiness all over Ron.

“Yeah, they told me. I’m happy for them.”

“Are you?” Arthur asked. It was a strange question. Harry looked at him, really looked. He noticed the grey in his hair. When had that happened?  
“Yeah, of course I am. I love them. I want them to be happy.” Harry said, honestly. Arthur nodded.

“I know, dear boy.” and a moment later, “You’re always welcome here, Harry. You’ll always be a part of our family.”

Harry’s throat closed up.

“Thanks Mr. Weasley.” He managed, voice hoarse. Arthur merely nodded and strode away to collect his wife and congratulate his son.

Harry waited a while longer before making his way through the crowd to his two best friends. They were answering the inevitable questions, when is the wedding, where is the wedding, who is doing the food, have they thought of a guest list, the sort.

Harry tapped Ron on the shoulder.

“I’m heading home, mate,” He said.

“So early? I’m sorry Harry, everyone just wants to know-”

“It’s okay Ron, I know. I’m just tired. I’ll catch you guys later, yeah?”

“Alright, be safe, you hear?” Harry smiled and nodded. He made his way the few feet away to where Hermione was trapped between Molly and Aunt Muriel.

“I don’t know why Ronald didn’t just ask me for my grandmother's ring, it could have easily been resized-”

“Harry!” Hermione said loudly, cutting Muriel off. “Are you leaving?” Harry nodded. “Are you alright?” She asked, her sharp eyes on his face.

“Yeah, ‘Mione. Just tired.” He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

He waved at Molly and made his way out of the crowded garden, away from the lights and the noise and the questions. Away from the people who were changing, growing, and finding happiness, while he remained the same.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco was just leaving Gringotts when the reporter spotted him.

“Mr. Malfoy! Time for a few questions?” The man said, hurrying alongside Draco as he descended the steps.  
“If they are quick questions, perhaps.” Draco drawled politely.

“Your charity auction is this weekend, have you increased security since the disaster at your last event?” The man asked, quill poised as he watched Draco’s face for a reaction. Draco was very practiced at these situations though, and merely smiled.

“Of course. The safety of my guests is priority. What happened was dreadful, hopefully the Ministry will catch the extremists soon before they can do any more harm.” He said.

“And what of Mr. Potter? He’s been publicly absent since the last attack, after making such a public announcement about your consent to work together. Are they rumors of his power true? Is it uncontrollable? Will he be attending your event this weekend, or will he be absent then as well?”

Draco had stopped near the bottom of the steps as the man spoke, his face a perfect mask of polite interest.

“Mr. Potter is perfectly well, and gives credit to none of these rumors. He is just as maddeningly capable of a wizard as he has ever been, and as far as I know he will be attending the auction. As will a number of other important officials, such as the Minister. I really must be going sir, do have a good day.” Draco managed, with nothing less than perfect sincerity and good humor.

Once back at the Manor, he allowed himself to feel the disgust that had wormed it’s way inside of him along with the reporter's words. Potter, uncontrollable? Potter had always been uncontrollable! How was it that no one else had seen this, until now! Perfect, saintly Potter. Oh, how Draco would have given to be asked such questions at an earlier time in his life.

But now things were different.

Potter was still infuriating, but Draco had no intentions of spreading vile nonsense about him now. It would not be conductive at all to his current plans.

“Tip,” Draco called.

_Crack._

“Yes, Master Draco?” She answered reverently.

“Where is Mother?”

“Having her morning tea sir, in the second floor drawing room. Will Master Draco be joining her?”

“Shortly, yes.” He responded. She bowed and left him alone in his rooms. Draco took a few minutes to clear the irritation from his mind and features before joining his mother for tea.

“Draco, darling. How lovely of you to join me.” She smiled as he entered and seated himself across from her.

“Good morning, Mother.” He answered, accepting the tea from Tip.

“Have you seen the announcement in the Prophet?” She asked, watching him over the rim of her cup.

“What announcement?”

“Mrs. Granger and the youngest Weasley son are engaged to be married.”

Potter’s friends. Engaged.

“Well, it’s not exactly a surprise. I’m quite sure Granger could do better, but I guess he’s not completely useless. I’ve heard he’s a decent Auror.” Draco droned.

“Many say she’s on track to be the next Minister of Magic.” Narcissa said breezily.

“So I’ve heard. She’d be good at it.” Draco offered, honestly. Narcissa smiled at him.

“I agree. She’s a fair woman, and intelligent.” There was silence for a few moments before she spoke again, this time in a voice barely above a whisper; “Oh, how times have changed.”

“Indeed.”

 

* * *

 

 

Harry woke late on Wednesday morning, having not slept well the night before. His sleep had been plagued with dark dreams and pain and sweats. He slid out of bed reluctantly, mouth stale and tongue sore from where he had bitten it in the middle of a nightmare.

He made his way sluggishly down to the kitchen, blinking blearily as he wiped his glasses on his ratty old sleep shirt. With a steaming cup of tea in hand, Harry made his way up to the drawing room. Snape was absent, his window open. It was strange for him to be gone this time of day, when he usually prefered to be sleeping. Harry frowned, but ignored it as he sat on the sofa heavily.

The house was silent and still, and he endured the quiet and drank his tea, slowly returning to full consciousness. It was only a little while later when Snape glided in through the open window, the the PROPHET clutched in his beak. Harry gaped.

Snape went as far as to drop the paper into Harry’s lap before returning to his perch and fluffing his feathers, settling down to get comfortable. Harry couldn’t help but think of how strange he was. He sat his tea down and unfolded the paper.

And was visually assaulted with a rather good picture of Malfoy.

**DRACO MALFOY DEFENDS LEGENDARY RIVAL HARRY POTTER**

**Early yesterday afternoon Mr. Malfoy was spotted leaving Gringotts**  
**and stopped just long enough to fend off accusations**  
**about Potters mysterious absence and confirm that Potter**  
**will indeed be at the charity auction this coming weekend.**  
**“He is just as maddeningly capable of a wizard as he has ever**  
**been, and as far as I know he will be attending the auction.”**  
**Straight from the mouth of Draco Malfoy, who famously stood**  
**on opposing sides during the war with He Who Must Not Be Named,**  
**and has since resurfaced as a self made philanthropist. Mr. Malfoy**  
**also confirmed the attendance of the Minister, and voluntary team of**  
**Aurors who will patrol Malfoy Manor to guard against foul play.**

 

Harry stared at the picture of Malfoy. He looked ridiculously posh, with his long hair and grey fitted suit. His slender fingers kept tracing patterns on his briefcase as he smiled. The expression was slightly mischievous and dark, as though he knew Harry was looking at him. He put the paper face down on the table and went to dress.

 

“Now I think we’ll stick with the same trousers you wore last time since they’re versatile, but change up your shirt and tie…” Hermione was saying over lunch the next day. “I know your measurements now so if you’d like I can just pick something fitting and have it sent to you by tomorrow evening.”

“Yeah, that’ll be fine.”

“And I promise I’ll be at your house on time so we can apparate.”

“Okay.”

“Though I’m having trouble deciding to what wear, myself. It’s currently a tie between a beautiful frog spawn patterned silk dress, or some nice robes made of bowtruckle excrement.”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“Harry James Potter, you are not listening to a word I’m saying.” Hermione scolded, loudly enough to break him out of his thoughts.

“Huh? I’m sorry ‘Mione. Just tired.” Harry offered, attempting to smile at her from across their tiny table at muggle cafe.

“You’re not sleeping well, are you? The dreams again?” She asked, more softly this time. Harry nodded. “I’ll send over some dreamless sleep. You need to get some rest before this auction. I want you at your best and fully aware of your surroundings.”

“Are you expecting trouble?” Harry asked, attentive now.

“Not exactly. But considering what happened last time, it can’t hurt to be careful. I also sent an owl to Malfoy, I know he does press at these events but I don’t want them harassing you.”

“You owled him? When?”

“This morning. He responded promptly and assured me all the reporters there will be under strict orders to not approach you or they’ll be escorted out.”

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about that information.

“It’ll be fine, Harry. I’ll have some dreamless sleep sent to you tonight and your dress clothes delivered by tomorrow evening. I’ve got to run, I’ve got a meeting.” She said, wiping her mouth with a napkin before gathering her things. Harry watched as she pushed a stray strand of frazzled hair behind her ear and turned to look at him.

“You’ll be okay?” She asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll see you later.” Harry assured her. She dipped down for a quick hug.

“See you saturday.” She murmured before darting out of the cafe.

 

* * *

 

 

It was Saturday, Hermione was due to arrive any moment, and Harry was having a bloody panic attack. The shirt that she had sent over, that he hadn’t bothered to look at until now, was too small. As in, comically small. The hem barely covered the bottom of his ribcage, it absolutely wouldn’t button, and his arms barely fit in the sleeves.

He was standing in front of the full length mirror in his bedroom when he heard Hermione calling from the stairs to let him know she was coming in. She walked through his open door and halted, mouth open.

“Harry, what did you _do_?” She asked shrilly.

“I didn’t do anything! It was like this when I opened it!” He protested, pointlessly tugging at the shirt, trying to get it to close over his bare chest.

“It certainly wasn’t! I checked that package before it sent!” She strode over briskly and began tugging. When that didn’t work, she whipped out her wand. Harry froze, afraid of a misfire.

But no matter what Hermione tried, the shirt wasn’t budging. She finally gave up on account of the time, and demanded entrance to Harry’s closet. Harry let her, of course. He stood well back and out of her way while he muttered darkly. He caught words such as ‘stress’ and ‘magic’ and ‘boys’ and ‘useless’.

When she emerged, she held a set of Harry’s nicer and rarely worn black robes. She turned her back while he pulled them on over a white t-shirt and his dress trousers, then allowed her to turn back around and fiddle with the fabric. Harry remembered why he never wore this set. They were thick and stuffy, with a high collar that came over halfway up his neck. The sleeves were also tight around his arms, making him feel restricted and suffocated.

Hermione fretted about, touching her wand here and there. Harry took the time to notice her dress, which was a tasteful deep blue. It fell to just below her knees and was complimented by a pair of silver dangly earrings with blue stones. Her hair was piled neatly atop her head. She looked lovely. When she stepped back to admire her work, Harry glanced at himself in the full mirror and groaned.

“I look like Snape.” He said darkly, frowning deeply at his reflection.

“Huh. Yeah, I guess I can see where you’d get that. The collar, and all. Turn, please.” Harry turned.

He felt a bit of tugging at the hem around the backside, then let her spin him around to face the mirror again. She had charmed the inner fabrics to be a dark, rich green to match his eyes. Harry sighed, not at all willing to put forth the effort to argue.

He supposed it didn’t look too bad, now that it wasn’t all black. The green would only really show when the robes moved around his legs as he walked, but he could live with that. Hermione checked the time and jumped a little.

“We have to go, we’re late. Are you ready?” She asked. Harry nodded and followed her down the stairs and out of the house. They walked a little ways down the road to the alley where apparition was safest, and away they went.

 

It was twilight when they arrived, arm in arm in the curved driveway of the Manor. Other guests were apparating nearby and Harry and Hermione quickly made their way to the garden to get out of the way. It was much the same as the last time, with snow covered grounds and a large and brightly lit patio. Harry was grateful for the cold air as he tugged at the collar of his robes.

“Stop that,” Hermione chided as they stepped into the crowd. “Ron should be here already,” She murmured, looking around.

They spotted him standing off to the side next to his partner, Petterson. They were speaking lowly to each other, eyes on the crowd warily. Ron broke off mid sentence when he saw Hermione, his mouth hanging open.

“You look, I mean, you’re... “  
“Spit it out Ronald.” Hermione teased him.

“Shut it woman. You look gorgeous.” He finally said, neck and ears red.

“I still don’t know how you managed to con such a lovely woman into marrying you, Weasley. Teach me your ways.” Petterson goaded him, elbowing Ron in the side.

“Shut it, old man.” Ron shot back, grinning.

Hermione was right, it seemed that they had arrived a bit late. The party was already in full swing. House elves walked through the crowd, balancing drink trays twice the size of their own bodies. The garden was beautiful, there were circular tables spaced throughout, some guests were sitting and others were standing, mingling. There was some piano melody playing from somewhere.

Harry couldn’t help but scan the crowd for Malfoy.

Hermione, Ron, and Petterson continued to chat behind Harry while he tried to search the crowd discreetly. His gaze wandered for over ten minutes with no sign of Malfoy, but he had seen some familiar faces. Neville Longbottom caught his eye and made his way over to their small party to greet Harry for the first time since directly after the battle of Hogwarts.

“Harry, it’s been so long. How are you?” He asked, his face earnest and open as always. He had grown as well, and was no longer the gangly youth that Harry had known in school.

“I’m great. I’m teaching Herbology at Hogwarts! Can you believe that? Me, a teacher!” Neville gushed happily.

“Yes, how is that Neville? Do you enjoy it?” Hermione asked him, her eyes flickering over to Harry meaningfully.

“I do, actually. It’s hard to believe we were all students not so long ago. They’re all so small, it’s crazy. It makes me feel old.” Neville said, smiling. “But I do enjoy it. I get to work with plants all day.” He said, as though it was obviously the best job in the world. And maybe, to Neville, it was.

“That's awesome Nev, I’m happy for you.” Harry offered, smiling.

“Thanks. I actually just got in a rare breed of-” But whatever Neville had just gotten was lost on Harry, because he had just spotted bright silver hair behind him, closer to the house.

To Harry’s disappointment, it wasn’t Malfoy. It was his mother. Narcissa Malfoy stood on a raised platform closer to the house, calling for attention. Conversation died down and she smiled beautifully at her guests.

“Welcome, I’m glad you could all come. We’re going to move into the ballroom now and the auction will begin shortly.” She stepped down from the podium as people began to move inside and Harry lost her in the crowd.

He had no choice but to follow everyone else and slowly make his way through the doors and into the house. Ron and Hermione were only a few steps behind him as he stepped into the ballroom. He had never been inside this particular room in the manor, and he wasn’t too sure that he liked it.

It was very theatrical, with shiny white marble floors, gold viens spidering across each large square. There were golden arches draped over mirrors that circled all the way around the room, making it bright and alarmingly massive. Reflections of people expanded the crowd to over three times it’s actual size, making Harry sweat under his high collar.

There was a platform on the opposite side of the room from the entrance, but it was empty. Harry craned his neck, searching for the familiar blond hair. He had thought that Malfoy would have sought him out by now and was slightly put out that he hadn’t.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked, handing him a drink. Harry felt both of their eyes on him.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He answered, turning his back to the room and tuning into the conversation they had been having behind him. He sipped his champagne, mouth dry.

“Most of what’s being bid on is public knowledge, but Malfoy announced last week that there would be a special announcement once the bidding was over.” Neville was saying.

“Yes, I read that too. I wonder what it is.” Hermione mused.

“Malfoy hair styling secrets, perhaps?”

“Shut up, Ronald.”

“Mr. Potter,” their bickering was interrupted and the group turned to see an elegantly dressed, aged woman, accompanied by a man who may have been her husband. Harry didn’t have time to study him, as the woman took up his attention. She was grey haired, wearing a beautiful but conservative gown, with wide shoulders and posture that easily betrayed her blood status.

Her skin was soft and wrinkled, her lips thinned with her age. Her attention was on Potter, and he stammered to reply. Before he could, however, Hermione cut in.

“No reporters, please madam.” She said kindly, but firmly.

“I am not a reporter. My name is Natavia Dolohov. I was merely wondering what you planned to do about the violence against ex-death eater families? Those of us who never had anything to do with He Who Must Not Be Named, but are still in danger merely because of association or relations to those who were?”

Harry felt his magic flex dangerously, his collar suffocating him as she stared at him with hard eyes.

“Finding and arresting those responsible is the job of the The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which Harry is not a part of. It is not his responsibility. He is a war hero, and if you don’t mind, he would like a bit of peace.” Ron said, stepping up next to him. Harry’s magic swirled around him, feeling bright as a bonfire, and he was terrified that someone would notice, that someone would feel it.

A flash of silver from a part in the crowd.

Malfoy was staring at him. Because of course, Malfoy was very familiar with Harry’s wild magic. He would know immediately when Harry had a flare up, even from across the room. Eyes still locked with Malfoy, Harry’s glass of champagne exploded in his hand. His fingers dripped blood and suddenly Hermione was there, turning his hand gently, waving her wand with a murmured spell. Ron was blocking him from the sight of the woman, Harry could hear them arguing but couldn’t make out the words through the blood pounding in his ears.

“I need some air,” Harry gasped.

“Yes, go, around that way,” Hermione pointed and let him go, he felt her eyes on his back as he struggled around the edge of the crowd, trying to breathe, trying to hold it in.

He opened the first door he saw and stepped into another brightly lit room, a bathroom. He closed and clicked the lock on the door behind him before staggering over to the mirrors above the marble sinks. The man in the mirror looked almost like a stranger. Pale and darkly clothed, wild black hair and bright eyes. He looked different. Not himself. He looked shockingly similar to a young Tom Riddle.

The glass splintered in front of him, one jagged line cutting his reflection in half.

Harry’s hands gripped the edge of the countertop and he dropped his head, closing his eyes against the sudden burn. His eyes watered against his will.

Why did this have to be so bloody difficult? Why couldn’t people leave him alone? Hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t he given enough? His throat closed against the groan that tried to claw it’s way out, his teeth clenched.

He heard the soft click of the lock.

Harry whirled, facing Malfoy as he stepped slowly into the room, shutting the door again behind him.

“What do you want?” Harry demanded, humiliated by the wetness on his cheeks. Malfoy held up his hands in submission, no wand. Unarmed.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He said, voice cautious.

“Okay?” Harry laughed, hollow. “I am not okay. I will never be okay again.” He bit out, angry. At everything. Most of all, at Draco bloody Malfoy.

“Potter, I am not your enemy,” Malfoy tried, but Harry interrupted him.

“Are you sure? Sneaking into someone’s home and lying their way into their life to learn all of their secrets seems like something an enemy would do.” He spat. His magic was burning in him, raging and demanding. Harry struggled against it.

“No, please, Potter let me explain. _Please_ ,” Malfoy breathed, taking one step closer. Harry thrust out a hand to halt him, and Malfoy acquiesced, but he continued to speak. “It may have been like that at first but somewhere between that dirty little cabin and that night before everything went to hell, it changed. You _know_ it changed.” He said this last bit breathlessly, almost desperately. Harry clenched his jaw again but didn’t try to stop Malfoy from taking a step further towards him.

“I got to know you. There were so many times that I almost transformed back in front of you, to tell you the truth, but I knew, I _knew_ ,” Malfoy said, pained as he took another careful step, “I knew that you would hate me for it. So I didn’t, because I’m still me. I’m _selfish_ and I didn’t want to lose what I felt was happening between us.” He took another step. Harry stood, lower back pressed hard against the counter top and jaw clenched hard, every muscle tense.

“Then that day with the children, you were so incredible and I knew I was in trouble. And you took my hand.” Malfoy whispered, looking down at Potter's hands gripping the countertop as if it was all that was holding him upright. And maybe, in that moment, it was. “Then there was the night that you almost let me kiss you.”

Harry’s breath caught, his chest feeling too small for the angry swirl of emotion inside of it. Malfoy was only a few feet away now, if he reached out he could touch him.

“I am sorry for lying to you. I am sorry for hurting you. But I would do it again. I would do it all over again, because otherwise, none of this would have happened. You wouldn’t be here, looking that way at me. And I wouldn’t feel the way I do.”

“And how is that,” Harry gasped, unable to stop himself. Malfoy was so close, a glittering silver storm trapped in his eyes. Harry’s breath was coming in bursts, his body straining with tension as he tried to keep the force of his magic in check.

“I’d like to show you, if you’ll let me,” Malfoy breathed, coming ever closer, every move slow and deliberate, as though he was afraid Harry would bolt if spooked. But he stayed perfectly still while Malfoy slowly closed the gap between them, until they were breathing each other's air.

Harry kept his eyes open, locked on Malfoy’s, until the moment their lips touched. And then the room went still. It was as though Harry had been burning alive and was suddenly doused with a bucket of cool water. Then tension in his body dropped, he sagged back against the counter and Malfoy followed, lips pressed firmly to Harry’s. And then they moved, coaxing Harry’s mouth open with minimal effort. The barest swipe of a tongue.

A different kind of fire began to take hold, starting up low in his stomach. He felt Malfoy’s hand tentatively touch the back of his neck, fingers sliding gently into his hair. His lips were warm and soft, and Harry felt teeth graze his bottom lip. He opened his mouth wider, and Malfoy expertly coaxed his tongue out before latching onto it, sucking gently. Harry moaned sharply, breath caught.

His hands left the counter and twisted into Malfoy’s vest, pulling him flush against Harry and their kiss increased in intensity. Malfoy kissed like it was the only time he’d ever get the chance, full of passion and need. He pushed his way between Harry’s legs and suddenly his groin was _there_ , pressing against Harry and he could _feel_ Malfoy’s erection against his own. A moan escaped both of them at the contact and their mouths separated, panting damp hot air between them.

A sharp increase in noise outside of the bathroom caught their attention, of cheering and clapping. A bid had been won.

“Have dinner with me tomorrow night,” Malfoy breathed against Harry’s lips. Harry, who had been watching those lips with fascination, looked up into his eyes. “Say yes,”

“Okay,” Harry whispered. And it was like someone turned on the sun. Malfoy smiled brightly and leaned in to snog him again, rubbing himself against Harry in a way that had him aching and desperate.

“I have to go,” Malfoy whispered, breaking the kiss again. Harry shook his head and leaned in, capturing lips again. Malfoy laughed against his mouth, kissing back. And Harry’s new goal in life was to kiss a laughing Malfoy as much as he possibly could. “Dinner, tomorrow. I’ll meet you at your house at six?”

“Okay,” He answered, positively hating when Malfoy gently pulled away. More cheering and clapping from beyond the door. “I really do have to go,” He said, an apology in his eyes. “Until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. Okay.” Harry breathed, still trying to gain control of himself as he watched Malfoy step backwards towards the door. He gave Harry one last look before unlocking and quickly stepping out, closing it firmly behind him.

Alone, Harry sagged against the counter, letting his head fall back. His lips felt warm and swollen, his cock hot and painfully hard. But his magic was completely under control. Who would have thought. He smiled to himself.

A few minutes and some adjustments later, Harry stepped out of the bathroom and walked calmly back around the edge of the crowd to Ron and Hermione. Mrs. Dolohov was nowhere to be seen.

“Are you alright mate?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He said, blushing when Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. He tried to flatten his hair and asked, “What did I miss?”

“A bunch of old people bidding outrageous amounts of money for even older junk.” Ron grumbled. Harry grinned, then looked up to the podium. Where Malfoy was standing next to the Auctioneer, his cheeks slightly pink and a smile on his face.

“He certainly looks to be in a good mood.” Hermione stated from his other side.

“Does he,” Harry answered blandly, not looking at her.

They waited while, as Ron had said, old people bid on old things, until there were no more things to bid on. Then Malfoy stepped up to take the center of the podium and look around the crowd until he spotted Harry. He smiled.

“My fellow witches and wizards. I have an announcement to make. After much deliberation and careful planning, my mother and I have decided to renounce Malfoy Manor.” A gasp went out among the crowd and Harry could feel Ron and Hermione go still beside him as they listened. “As of the first of next month, this house will officially no longer belong to the Malfoy family, but instead to New Hope. It will be renamed and remodeled into a home for the unfortunate children of war. We will have live in instructors, cooks, and caretakers, funded by New Hope. My mother and I will no longer reside here, and the Manor’s wards will be changed accordingly.”

He looked around at the crowd seriously as he continued.

“I was a child of war. The Dark Lord inflicted his presences over me in this very house.” The room was eerily silent as Malfoy spoke. “Though he is gone, for me the memory remains. So my hope is to turn this house into a safe haven for those who are still so young, who do not have a place to call home. No child should suffer the way some of us did.” Harry felt Neville shuffle behind him. “The donations you have made tonight will fund remodels, supplies, food, clothes, and anything else these kids may need. Not only those orphaned by the war, but any young witch or wizard in need. If they need help, they only have to ask. I thank you for your support and I hope you all have a safe and pleasant evening.” Malfoy then bowed respectfully, and made his way off of the podium.

Chatter broke out through the crowd as people began to make their way to the exits.

“Well that was unexpected.” Ron said.

“Yes, it was. Not very surprising though, if you think about it. Considering.” She replied. “He does have some terrible memories of this house. It makes sense that he would want to be out of it.”

“Yeah, but Malfoy Manor has been in their family for generations. Old Lucious must be rolling in his grave.” Ron grinned, elbowing Harry. Harry grinned, a second too late though no one seemed to notice. He followed his friends out of the cavernous room, Malfoy nowhere in sight.

Later, when he was home and alone, he laid in bed remembering the feeling of Malfoy's lips against his own. The taste of Malfoy’s tongue in his mouth, the feeling of teeth on his lip while Malfoy’s erection rutted against his own.

Unable to control himself, he wanked shamelessly, coming much too soon to the memory of silver eyes and pink lips. He lay in bed after, breathing heavily and thinking of tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, so I'm in this Drarry discord server and it's just a bunch of weirdos who love Drarry and we would LOVE you have new members. Be prepared to tell us your house and gain points and a bunch of other wonderful nonsense.
> 
> https://discord.gg/k7Gpcnn

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case you missed it in my other AN, part two is complete but I need a beta. If you're interested, send me an email. Thanks!


End file.
